


Dark Lady of Imladris

by EvilFuzzy9



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brainwashing, Canon Compliant, Corruption, Dark Aragorn, Dark Arwen, Dark Lord Arwen, Descent into Madness, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Don't Try This At Home, Evil Arwen, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Multi, Or As Much As It Can Be, Seriously This is A Twisted Fic, Slow Build, slow, slow start
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 06:06:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilFuzzy9/pseuds/EvilFuzzy9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing which the One Ring cannot corrupt. No motivation is too good or pure to be marred by its evil. Unfortunately, none thought to tell Arwen this.</p><p>[mind control, corruption, exhibitionism, BE, lactation, cannibalism, evil!Arwen, evil!Aragorn, dark]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arwen's Descent

The realms of Arnor and Gondor were reunited long ago. The lord of Mordor who reigned from Barad-dûr was cast down to his uttermost ruin in a far bygone age. From the Gulf of Lune to the Sea of Rhûn, from Forochel and Angmar to the southernmost wilds of Far Harad, all realms in Middle-earth were brought together under a single, benevolent rule.  
  
Benevolent to start, at least. For the power of the One Ring was great, and the evil within it was too deep for even the likeness of Lúthien Tinúviel born again to tame it without falling herself into darkness. Arwen Undómiel, called also the Evenstar, was slower in her fall than others of her kindred may have been, but still she fell at length.  
  
Wise she was in the manner of the Eldar, though at the time of the One's coming to Imladris her count of years measured not even three thousands. A great power and virtue also were in her, for she was of the same lineage as the kings of Westernesse, granddaughter of Celeborn and Galadriel through her mother, and of Elwing and Eärendil through her father. No blood was there so mixed yet high in all Middle-earth, save in the twin brothers Elladan and Elrohir, her elders by a mere century.  
  
In her was an echo of the beauty of Lúthien, called fairest maiden of the fairest firstborn, and a memory of her strength. For Lúthien had been strong in her fashion, though she bore not blade or bow. But in the loveliness of her visage and the sound of her voice there had been a power for deeds beyond even the mightiest lords and kings.  
  
The charm of her voice was such as could lay enchantment on even the first and chiefest enemy, Morgoth to whom Sauron had been but a lieutenant, and without her, Beren, whose might was reckoned among the greatest of the Edain in the ancient days, such a strength of arm and will as of which only pale shadows could now be seen in the latter sons of Men, could never have wrested the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown and thus paid the price asked by Thingol for his daughter's hand. And her dance had moved even the Doomsman of the Valar in the Uttermost West, the lord of Mandos who governed the souls of the dead, to feel pity and return to the living world Beren One-handed, who had perished untimely.  
  
As all powers in the waning years of Middle-earth, Arwen's was only a reflection of that seen in the Elder Days, but still it could be counted great enough to master the One Ring if she so desired. And master it she did, though the effort nearly broke her, for one desire alone did she have who lived in such gladness as any elf could know east of the sea, and that was a desire great enough to make her act against all counsel of prudence.  
  
For in Arwen's veins ran the blood of men, the Edain on her father's side, and of Noldor also on her mother's. This alone, perhaps, could serve as explanation enough to those learned in lore for why the daughter of Elrond did so rash a deed as to ask the hobbit, Frodo, to give her the ring. And the beauty of her face and voice, as well as the kindly wisdom that shone in her eyes, could surely explain well enough likewise why Frodo Baggins consented to hand over the burden to which he had doomed himself only the day before.  
  
And then Arwen strove as she never had before. Conquest and domination were not her desire, and little was there in her spirit which the ring could twist or corrupt without much time of long and subtle working. One of higher mind and greater power than she might have been laid low in the struggle—even her father, or Mithrandir the wise—but Arwen was as humble as any maiden of such noble lineage could be, and very kind and pure. Of sterner stuff was she made than most other folk, and fair though she was, her heart was nearly dwarvish in its obstinacy.  
  
At the start, the only change in Arwen was the kindling of a lustfulness nearly alien to those of elven kin, for in elves there is little desire for sex of its own sake. The need did not burn in elves as it did in the sons and daughters of men, because elves had no great need to procreate, not as mortal men had. But Arwen was not an elf alone, and she desired more in her love of Aragorn than did most elf maidens from their beloveds. In her for many years had there dwelt, first kindled by the plighting of her troth upon Cerin Amroth, a lust akin to that of mortals.  
  
It was a pure lust, certainly, as fair and proper as there could exist between two lovers unwed. Though parting from him pained her as had little else in all her life, she had endured it over the decades of waiting, even if the ache for him made the years seem long to her as they had not seemed since kings still reigned in Osgiliath and Annúminas. But it was lust still, and the easiest part of her for the ring to pervert.  
  
First, it made her desire of Aragorn burn hot, and she conceived to walk unclad under a spell which made her seem clothed to all but he, who would behold her nakedness in wonder. Greater grew her beauty as she mastered the One Ring, waxing to heights unimagined in the days after the Council of Elrond, until all who looked upon her were stricken with amazement and filled with desire, regardless of race, gender, age, or kinship.  
  
Her bosom swelled as if with her mounting power, growing larger and rounder, plumper and more full than any breasts before seen upon an elven maid. For elves were slender by nature, lithe as willow wands, and their breasts were pert and modest, such as would not sag or burden unduly. But Arwen's breasts became those of a daughter of men, large and unwieldy, each tit as big and fat as the average hobbit. So large they were that no elf-raiment could cover them, not while fitting the rest of her body.  
  
And her breasts were not the only thing to change. Though her waist stayed as slender as ever, her hips swelled to a breadth fit to bear many kings and queens of mortal men. Wide they were, so broad from left to right that even with the innate grace of elves she spent many days knocking things from their rightful place every time she walked or turned or sat or rose. And her hips swayed more sensually than those of even the basest elf harlot (that is, a maiden so lustful as to not be satisfied with having sex any less than once a decade), more like a mortal woman whose only employment was to tempt and arouse.  
  
Her ass last of all bore any great change, ballooning much like her bosom to a size and plumpness that would have been called obscene by even the most lustful and slatternly mortals. It was so corpulent that it quaked with every step like a hill at the tramping of ten thousand horses, and it wobbled ponderously wherever she went, lagging behind her swaying hips and knocking down more than a few bewildered Rivendell residents. Its weight was immense, between it and her breasts a triple tithe nearly of her new body's mass.  
  
These were absurd proportions for even the most voluptuous daughters of men, and simply incomprehensible on a slender elf like Arwen. Yet her body felt perfect to her, and judging by the lust she perceived to kindle in Aragorn's loins at the sight of her, this was not her opinion alone. Still, she kept these changes shrouded for a time, in the wait for the return of the scouts, ere the company of the ringbearer would be expected to set out.  
  
Frodo spoke not of giving the ring to Arwen, for this she commanded him. The ring she held for that time, acquainting herself with the subtleties of its power, but she did not claim it fully. Not yet. She had mastered it for a while, but not until it came that the fellowship was to depart from Rivendell did Arwen feel at last that the time was ripe.  
  
Her power had grown in possessing the ring to a fullness surpassing even her greatest ancestors, and her mind had become slowly corrupted by its presence, though only in small and gradual measures. Fierce and masterful she was in her heart when the fellowship gathered for a departure now meaningless, yet veiled were her intentions from all, even Aragorn, though certainly she had spent the time well in tempting and arousing him.  
  
Arwen stood outside the last homely house with such a gathering of its residents as desired to see the company off. Her father was there, and she perceived Vilya, the Ring of Air on his finger. Gandalf also was present, for he was to depart with the fellowship, and in his possession she saw Narya, the Ring of Fire. On the hand of her mother's mother, she knew also, far away in the golden wood of Lothlórien was Nenya, the Ring of Water.  
  
In flight to Mordor were the nine far away, their bearers weak and unclad after the drowning of their steeds in loud Bruinen. And in the land of darkness were the three remaining dwarven rings, one of which at least adorned the finger of the Mouth of Sauron.  
  
In an instant, all of this Arwen perceived. At once she knew that the time had come, and finally she stood forth and let her shroud fall away. Her true, new, naked form was shown to those present, and she rose high over them in her terrible beauty. Aloft she bore the plain, golden band of the One Ring. Fear and wonder struck all who beheld her, understanding come at last to the source of her presence which had grown ever fairer yet more terrible to them, a change sensed even beneath the One's concealment.  
  
Her eyes flashed, and Aragorn drew close. His eyes were filled with understanding, yet under the spell of his love for her and the beauty of her form he could do nothing to stay her hand.  
  
"My beloved Elessar," she said to Aragorn, using the kingly name foretold for him. "Let no law or contrivance keep us parted any longer. I will have you, and you will have me." Her eyes fell on Elrond, her father. "And NONE shall come between us!"  
  
With this, she spoke the ring-spell. Not in the degraded speech of Mordor contrived by Sauron, but in the high tongue of Valinor, and the air seemed to burn and crackle with forks of lightning, though it was in truth clear and unchanged. Yet a weight fell on all present, and a veil seemed to pass over the sun—not the smothering shadow of Sauron, but a clear mist through which its light still came, changed and alien but fair.  
  
And then she donned the ring, and pronounced at last her full claim. From Barad-dûr did Sauron perceive her, and in the darkness of his realm fear pierced him, so great was the likeness of Arwen in fëa and hröa to Lúthien of old. For Lúthien had dealt to Sauron through her hound and through Finrod some of his most shameful wounds, and she had shamed his master also. In perceiving the will of Arwen to take the ring as her own, Sauron felt those defeats burn him anew.  
  
Then, her glance fell upon Aragorn son of Arathorn, descended by long lineage through the rangers and the kings of Arnor from Isildur son of Elendil, and Sauron perceived the sick, slavish, incomprehensible adoration of Arwen for this man. She was enslaved to Aragorn by mortal lust and elvish love, but her will was great and her power enough to subdue the ring into her service.  
  
And then Sauron felt Arwen gaze upon him across the leagues uncounted, over field and fen and mountains high. Her consideration pierced him more deeply and coldly than the spear of Gil-galad, her eyes blazing brighter than the sword of Elendil. And when she spoke next, it was to him as much as those beside her.  
  
"I am Arwen Evenstar, and the One Ring is mine."  
  
Thus Sauron was sundered from the greater part of his native power, the bond twixt him and his ring utterly broken. It was his no longer. Now Arwen was the lord—nay, the lady of the rings, and a fair lady she was, as fair and the moon, and terrible as the faces of the Valar in wrath.  
  
No more Sauron saw or knew of Arwen until she came at length in great might, leading an army of all the peoples of Middle-earth save the foul slaves of Morgoth, to throw him down in a final defeat from which he could never again rise while the world was whole.  
  
In Imladris, Elrond fell stricken upon his face. Arwen's glance smote him as a sword through the breast. His thought was laid bare, all his works and designs exposed to the One's new master.  
  
"Give me your ring," Arwen commanded.  
  
Like a puppet on strings, Elrond did as ordered, though his face was pained and ashen white. He was mute, unspeaking. In an instant her will broke him, for so close was she to his heart that no defense of spirit could be mounted between them. And her power was the greater, and all his lore was now known to her as he groveled in misery and placed Vilya in her hand.  
  
Arwen considered the ring, set with a lovely sapphire. Greatest of the three, it was called, and worthiest perhaps of her beloved.  
  
"Elessar," she said, again using Aragorn's prophesied name. "Take this ring as a sign of our union. No power in Middle-earth shall keep us parted from each other ever again."  
  
And Aragorn took Vilya and donned it on the hand which bore not the ring of Barahir, that token of his descent through true line from the Edain and the kings of Westernesse, most ancient and worthy heirloom in all houses of men good or ill, high or low. Such was the power of Arwen's beauty over his heart that he did not for even an instant hesitate to do this.  
  
Then Arwen turned to Gandalf.  
  
"Mithrandir," she said, "Or should I call you Olórin, servant of Nienna in Valinor? Count yourself freed of your duty, and unbound from the vows which have chained you and your order to this Middle-earth. Also I bid you surrender Narya unto me, for that is a work of elven-craft given to Cirdan by Gil-galad, my kinsman long departed, who received it and Vilya from Celebrimbor, who wrought them in Eregion in fair days of the Second Age. Of high and noble kind you may be, but I deem it time that the loan be returned to one with greater right to claim it."  
  
Gandalf seemed to shrink before Arwen, leaning heavily on his staff.  
  
Clink!  
  
Something fell to the cobblestone. Gandalf's arm hung limp and his face was strained, but relieved also. Narya lay at his feet, and he backed away from Arwen—not gladly, but fear weighed on his heart, and he knew that the power within him would be of no avail to defy the Evenstar as she was now.  
  
Arwen's attention left Gandalf at once, and she stooped low to pluck Narya from where it had fallen. Her breasts quivered, heaving with excited breaths, and her ass rose as she bowed to seize the red ring, in which was set a ruby bright. All who beheld her nakedness were spellbound, and they were pinned where they stood by an even mix of wonder and dread. Lust and fear she kindled with her beauty, for it was great and perilous to all who dwelt in Arda.  
  
Narya, Arwen stowed between her breasts, where it vanished into her cleavage and did not fall back out. Then she turned and threw Aragorn onto his back with but a thought, and raising a hand burned the clothes from his body, though his flesh was unharmed, and his sword fell sheathed beside him.  
  
The Dark Lady of Imladris looked down upon Aragorn's manhood. It was flaccid still, not in impotence but restraint, the strength of Numenorean discipline letting the man keep himself from growing hard against his will. But she gazed into his eyes and commanded him without speech to desire this, which he had longed dreamed and hoped for, and to give up unto her all of his mind and body, for she desired him greatly and would let nothing keep her from having him.  
  
So Aragorn's cock rose to its full height, a foot and quarter in length, thick and throbbing and perfectly befitting a man of such proud and vaunted heritage. Arwen smiled, and the light of it seemed as wondrous and terrible as the first dawn to the thralls of Morgoth.  
  
Boromir son of Denethor gazed with both lust and dismay at Arwen's gorgeous body, envying Aragorn more greatly still even as fear chilled his blood. Now clearly did he understand the peril of which Mithrandir and Elrond had spoken. The One Ring was truly too great for any to master unchanged, and too terrible also to be turned to the service of good without twisting and marring much else in toll.  
  
Arwen bore herself down on Aragorn's loins. Her wide hips rocked slowly, languidly at first, and her fair face shone with a welling pleasure. Cheeks colored as red as the ripest apples, and gray eyes became clouded with pleasure. Her bosom heaved, and her great ass wobbled.  
  
Merry and Pippin stared, bewildered. They were simple, young hobbit folk and knew aught of elves, but obvious it seemed to them that this was not at all normal. They saw old Bilbo's ring on her finger, too, and glanced at Gandalf as he leaned on his staff and surveyed Arwen with troubled eyes. Their faces felt hot, and unbidden they thought of cute hobbit lasses back in their own country.  
  
Aragorn's pelvis thrust up and down beneath Arwen. His hardness was plunging into her, the flower of his beloved's sex so moist and warm and soft that it was like the finest elven wine. Her beauty was intoxicating, and he burned up from within as Vilya flashed on his finger.  
  
Gimli Gloin's son watched uneasily near Arwen and Aragorn. Elf women were far from unlovely, but their slenderness was usually undesirable to the dwarves, who favored the thick bottoms and hefty bosoms of their own folk. Yet the lady Arwen was fetching indeed, all the more now for how her unelvishly generous curves brought to mind the stout dwarf women of Erebor, whose false beards and heavy garb disguised them abroad from lustful eyes.  
  
Smack! Smack! Smack! Aragorn and Arwen's hips slapped together. Their eyes were blazing with a fey light, and remote they seemed to grow in the throes of their love-making. As though all else was irrelevant, they fucked and kissed and reveled in each other's bodies.  
  
Sam gaped, unsure whether he was glad or afeared to see the beauty of Lady Arwen in such a way as this. Even the lustiest hobbits, careless tweens as drunk more than their share of ale and lost themselves in the music of a gay party, never engaged in such displays. Perhaps in a quiet corner of the country they might roll about under the sun, but always far from prying eyes, and certainly never so boldly.  
  
Arwen's cunt was hewn by Aragorn's thick erection. His cock drove in and out of her. His eyes bored into hers, bright as the stars and filled with a fiery passion, and she pierced him with her glance. She saw his heart, and she knew it to be utterly hers, and she cleaved to him in the joyful greed of mortal lust.  
  
Legolas was stock still, as uncomprehending as most of the other elves present. His own people, the Sylvan folk, were baser and less wise than the elves of Arwen's high kindred. No bans had they on sexual intercourse, no real taboos beyond those common to all good people, for they were largely untroubled by the desire for it. They felt lust now and then, but even the youngest and least wise elf had surely never been mastered by carnal longing. Not like this.  
  
Great hills of flesh rocked in a violent tumult, swaying and leaping and falling again with loud claps of thunder. Burning loins smote together swift and furious, a wet and frenzied noise. Lips pressed fiercely, tongues joining between elf maiden and mortal man.  
  
Frodo watched, swaying slightly from the shock of Arwen claiming the ring. Brief though his keeping of it had been, still there had been a hold of it on his heart, and though he had given it to her as freely as any bearer could, it still troubled him to know that the One Ring was now hers alone. He felt weak and vulnerable before her, and when her glance pierced him he quailed. It aroused him, yet he felt afraid.  
  
And even as Arwen felt herself climbing near to release, she bent her thought toward the bearer of the third and final elven ring, Nenya of Water. Galadriel was its keeper, the mother of her mother, among the eldest and wisest of the elves who dwell still upon these hither shores.  
  
'You are mine.'  
  
Her consideration bent Galadriel low, over many leagues reaching out in thought to smite the lady of the golden wood. Too late was it for Galadriel to remove the ring and hide it. Arwen knew where it was, and she knew all the purposes to which it had been put. She knew all her grandmother's thought, even as she had known all the thought of her father and Mithrandir.  
  
In Middle-earth, there was only one whose beauty could be compared against Arwen's. Only one who could rival her as the most fair in all creation. For this crime, Arwen would visit a most terrible punishment. Her beauty was her greatest pride, and all who dared challenge it would suffer her wrath.  
  
Arwen exerted her power. She saw Galadriel's fear, and she wrapped the lady's mind in shadow, a mist which no wisdom could penetrate. Then she swelled the tall, slim lady's figure, expanding bust and hips to a degree beyond even hers. Breasts filled with milk, and a massive ass fit only for a whore burst apart the seams of Galadriel's raiment.  
  
Her grandmother, ageless and fair as the morning sun, fell to the floor of her flet in Caras Galadhon. The dress of Galadriel tore, ripped apart by the perversion of flesh which caused her to bulge out so lewdly in breast and rear. Eyes as wells of ancient wisdom were clouded, glazed over with lust, such unabating and unquenchable desire to be filled up and fucked and used and abused as only the lowliest and most shameless of mortal women knew.  
  
Milk seeped from Galadriel's nipples. It was a steady dripping, a stream nearly of white fluid which coursed from her teat. A moan low and lusty escaped plump lips too lovely to waste on speech, however wise or fair. Only kissing and sucking were worthy of such lips, and the tongue behind them did not deserve to be hidden away. It ought to be lolling out and plying its use on every surface it could reach, skin bare and soft most especially.  
  
Galadriel opened her mouth and raised one of her enormous breasts. So ponderous was the thing that she needed both hands and all her strength to stir it, and the pendulous, swollen bag of tender flesh and creamy milk rose up, half of it bending nearly back over itself as Galadriel raised one of her own nipples to her mouth and began to suck, to drink her own milk in a mindless desire.  
  
From afar, Arwen perceived the shouts of Lothlórien guards, and she smiled to know her grandmother was now little more than an elven cow. Such a fate served her right.  
  
This thought filled Arwen with great pleasure, and crying aloud she came in a torrent like the rushing of Bruinen to drown the steeds of the Nazgûl. Her maidenly gates closed hard upon Aragorn's thickness, and he came in unto her with a gasp and a moan.  
  
She smiled. It seemed to her mind that all of this was good and fair. And into her conception came other thoughts, other things also that she might dare and do with this power, ways to wrap herself and her lover in a neverending stream of pleasure forever.  
  
Glancing around, Arwen beheld many fair elf maidens. The sight of them, and the glimpse of pale skin flushed here and there, filled her with almost orcish thoughts.  
  
Perhaps it was that kinship with those things in the far distant years of the eldest elves, and the dark influence of the ring slowly tainting her heart to become more like to the elves who were broken and twisten by the First Enemy until they had become the ancestors of orcs, miserable and wretched and utterly foul, that did it. Or perhaps it was simply that Arwen was cruel by nature, and had always felt the urge, but until now had not recognized it for what it truly was.  
  
Whatever the cause, it came to Arwen's mind that the flesh of the elf-maidens of Rivendell looked tender and sweet, and as succulent as the ripest and richest meats of any game or kine. Hunger was in her, a hunger which could not be sated by poetry or song or wine, and in this hunger she licked her lips and dismounted Aragorn, feeling his thick, clinging seed slop a little out of her blossom.  
  
Bright and perilous eyes swept around Arwen, pinning those present in place.  
  
"I am hungry," she said, and her voice was cool. "Master Samwise, you can cook after the fashion of your people, can you not?"  
  
Sam gave a start.  
  
"Er, yes, Lady," he said, blushing and managing not to stare at Arwen's magnificent nudity. "I am. Every hobbit knows how to cook, but I should like to think I'm better than most."  
  
With talk of food bringing things back to more familiar ground, Merry and Pippin chimed in.  
  
"Oh, yes!" said Pippin. "Sam must be one of the best cooks in the whole Shire, or at least the Westfarthing."  
  
"Though I don't know that a stately lady like Miss Arwen would find hobbit fare much to her liking," added Merry.  
  
Arwen laughed. It was musical and clear, yet somehow less pleasant to hear than it ought to have been. She gestured to one of the elf-maidens nearest to her, an elleth whose name she could not seem to recall, though she was certain they had once had a close acquaintance.  
  
"Yet it shall not be hobbit fare, wholly," she said, smiling frightfully. "Not, surely, unless your people normally cook elf-maidens to eat."  
  
The elleth whom Arwen had indicated blanched. She tried to turn, perhaps to spring away and flee, or simply hide herself behind one of the strong elf lords present, but she found that she was rooted to the ground as surely as if she were a tree that had grown in that spot for a thousand years.  
  
Sam, meanwhile, blinked as he struggled to make sense of what the lady had just said. The speech of elves was so fair and musical that sometimes when they spoke he would hear the words but not the meaning, and surely this was one of those instances where he had let his mind wander and thus misheard the lady.  
  
"Pardon, but I must not have rightly heard you," he said with a short bow, blushing and trying not to look south of her face. "What did you say?"  
  
"This one will be my meal," said Arwen, and she made a beckoning gesture to the elleth. At once the dark haired maiden drew near as if dragged, and a wild fear was in her eyes. "You will take this elf and cook her. I do not care how, or in what manner. Butcher her first, if you wish, or cook her alive even as she stands before me, stripped but unmarred. I only desire to taste that flesh in my mouth, and to fill my stomach with her sweet, tender meat."  
  
At these words, there was a flash in Gandalf's eyes, and he sprang forward with Glamdring drawn. The blade of the long, elven sword glittered with a faint sheen of blue, and it flew in a flashing arc at Arwen's hand. He cried aloud in a harsh voice, speaking a word of command, and for a moment it seemed as though his rags fell away and he shone with a terrible light.  
  
But Arwen looked at him, and his light was quenched. Glamdring fell from his hand, clattering on the stone, and he stopped at once, as though he had run headlong into a wall.  
  
He swayed as one stricken, but still a grim defiance was in his face.  
  
"It has twisted you, lady," Gandalf said. "The Ring is altogether evil. It must be...!"  
  
Coldly, Arwen willed her darling to act, and Aragorn rose in a single fluid motion, nude and flaccid but filled with the fury of a servant whose beloved master has been insulted. Grasping the hilt of Andúril, he thrust the sword up in a line of fire.  
  
It pierced Gandalf's chest, and the wizard staggered.  
  
"Burn," said Arwen in the elvish tongue, and Gandalf was consumed at once. He shriveled and blackened like a twig cast into the heart of a great fire, although no flames could be seen, and in seconds he was reduced to ash.  
  
Those who saw this quailed, and were cowed for the time being into submission. Even the elleth ceased her struggle as cold despair seized her heart, and the light left her eyes in the depths of her sorrow.  
  
Weakly, fearfully, looking from the ashes of Gandalf to the nude, curvaceous, and terrible form of the Lady Arwen, Samwise Gamgee shivered and told Merry and Pippin to fetch a pot big enough to cook an elf-maiden. Quaking like leaves, they did at once as he asked, flying with a speed hitherto unseen in any hobbit to the kitchens of Imladris.  
  
Arwen smiled, and stooping down she kissed Sam on the brow.  
  
"Good child," she whispered in a sultry voice, brushing a hand between his legs. "Do this well, and you will be handsomely rewarded."  
  
Sam whimpered.


	2. Night-Queen's Rise

Arwen could not be defied. No power in Rivendell was there now great enough to oppose her, not when Mithrandir was slain, her father laid low, and the Dúnadan—Aragorn son of Arathorn—given Vilya and made to stand by her side. A fell doom had come, and it was one that none of the Eldar could have foreseen.  
  
The Dark Lady had pronounced her desires, and so great was the fear of her power at that time that none of Elrond's household dared defy them. A high oath of secrecy she laid on them, invoking the most terrible powers of Arda to bind the tongues of those who would go abroad. Even as Peregrin and Meriadoc fetched the supplies for Samwise to begin his own grim labor, Arwen marshalled many of those present to travel on her errands.  
  
Estel, Aragorn who had been raised by the Lord of Imladris like one of his own, trailed loving kisses up Arwen's neck and grasped her immense bosom, embracing her from behind. His manhood rubbed between plump and perfect thighs, twitching and grinding against her precious cunt. His body was hot and hard behind Arwen, and she leaned her weight against him like a standing throne, reclining luxuriously against his tall and noble form.  
  
Lust was in Arwen growing greater as she exercised her power, and her eyes flashed with desire ever and anon, falling upon the fair or comely and piercing through all veils and garments to behold their bodies as if naked and defenseless. The elf-maiden she doomed to cook was stripped by the hands of Samwise, who blushed and fumbled at her clothes with his eyes shut. Arwen was entertained.  
  
Bilbo and Frodo Baggins were made to grovel before her. Resilient though they were, as previous bearers of the One they were tied to its malice and defenseless against Arwen's will. Spells of daunting and command she laid on their backs, and protection also, telling them to return to the Shire and muster its people. A single token of her authority she gave them, a beryl shining with the light of her eyes, beautiful and terrible in a way that would cow all who opposed her messengers.  
  
To Boromir she gave Glamdring, and on the sword she laid a curse, saying that he would come to Minas Tirith swiftly and unmolested, and once there he would rally the people of Gondor and Rohan and prepare the way for the coming of High King Elessar. If he did not do this, or if he tried to turn against her and her lover, or if he tried to break Glamdring or cast it aside, then he would fall upon its point and die.  
  
Legolas she kissed, and fair though he was her beauty overcame him, and he bent smitten before her. On him she laid the task of summoning the elves of Mirkwood, and an arrow she gave him to present to his father as a token of her command. A doom kin to that of Glamdring she placed on the dart, and she foretold that if Thranduil or his people failed to come at call, then all their realm would be burned to ash, and their people slain or driven over the sea.  
  
The retinue of Glóin was promised the return of the surviving dwarven rings so long as they were faithful and brought all dwarves who would answer their call to the banner of the alliance. Gimli was given a token of Arwen and told to pass into Lothlórien and speak with the Lady of the Golden Wood. Perceiving that his route would be the most perilous, she took Narya from her cleavage and gave it into his keeping.  
  
"But only until you have completed your task!" she warned him. "Bear it to your meeting with Galadriel and present it to her, saying that you have a summons for her and her people from the Lady Arwen. Any who challenge your coming will be stricken, but if you yourself tarry or turn aside from the path, a torment of fire will be set on you, and Durin's Bane will rise to destroy the last dwellings of your folk!"  
  
Gimli quailed, and he promised that he would fulfill his task. Into his mind, then, with the loan of Narya, Arwen gave a vision of Galadriel's beauty and degradation. It was motivation for him to hasten on his journey, and also a show of what power she held over the ringbearers. Arwen saw a desire kindle in the dwarf's eyes, and he said with great zeal that he would do as she bade.  
  
Lastly, as Pippin and Merry readied a fire and filled a good elvish pot with all the water they should need, Arwen sent her thought to the Nine Riders. The ringwraiths had been making their way back to Mordor, unclad and unhorsed, when she claimed the Ring. Now they were aimless, for it was the One to which they were enthralled, and Arwen now held the mastery of it.  
  
The Nazgûl bowed to her will at once, and from afar she put upon them a command to deal with Saruman, whether by subjugation or destruction. And their power waxed with her focus, growing at once to its terrible fullness. The master of the ring was one, whole, and great, and the Nine were but vessels for her will and power.  
  
And with all of these things done, Arwen turned to watch as the elleth was prepared for the pot. Aragorn whispered sweet nothings into her ears, and smiling she arched her back and pressed more of her weight down on him. His cock angled up with his hips, and she aligned to bear down on it.  
  
With a wet squelch, Arwen was filled up by Aragorn's manhood, and her great ass smote his navel. His hands buried themselves nearly in the soft, pale flesh of her bosom, warm and creamy and fascinating to behold. He worked them reverently, squeezing and rolling the plump and ponderous mounds, pinching her nipples and making her sigh in contentment as pleasure wracked her body.  
  
The elleth looked disconsolately at Arwen, blushing though not trying to cover her nakedness. Sam had his barrow blade out, and he meekly prodded at the elf-maiden, poking its tip into the pale, rounded curve of her rear and silently compelling her to get in the pot. He was dreading this as much as the elleth, Arwen could tell at once, and in a mad, desperate corner of his mind he contemplated helping the maiden make a break for it.  
  
"Do not be a fool, Samwise," said Arwen coolly. "You would be slain before you got three steps, and she would be cooked all the same. Do as I tell you, and only one will need to die."  
  
Sam blanched, and his cheeks burned. Merry and Pippin were bewildered, but the elleth seemed to guess what he had been thinking.  
  
"Do not risk your life for my sake, Master Hobbit," she said in a clear, comforting tone. "I am merely going over the sea to Elvenhome. It is a journey all my kind must take before the end, and not all of us on the grey ships."  
  
And saying this, she sprang lightly over the fire and lifted herself up to the pot. She crouched for a moment on the rim, bent low and staring into the first rising wisps of steam. Pop, pop, came bubbles on the water's surface.  
  
Pale and shapely was the elleth's ass. Neither scrawny nor over-plump, it was round and pert and well proportioned. It fit her body perfectly, and the subtle swell of it had shown in comely enough fashion with her poise through the concealment of her dress, which now lay forgotten on the ground.  
  
Her limbs were long and slender, bent now as she crouched and steeled herself for the final plunge. Legs long and tempting were spread without real notice, giving Arwen a good view of a smooth, unsullied flower. As was the manner of elves, no hair adorned her sex.  
  
Small breasts rose and fell. They were of modest size, enough to fill another elf's hands, and nothing more was needed. A fine morsel might such a bosom make, and Arwen could not wait to see it boiled and carved from that slender body.  
  
Aragorn thrust faster and harder into Arwen. She rode him lazily, letting him do the work and pleasure her with his hands and mouth and pulsing cock. Her sex burned as the water hissed and bubbled and spat up a rush of steam from the pot.  
  
The maiden had dropped herself in. Headfirst she went, and her head struck the bottom of the pot. Legs slumped limply down, bent awkwardly as they sank below the surface. Her ass was barely submerged, and it could be clearly seen as a foam of seething bubbles rose around it, swelling and flooding the nether valley, drowning the small hills of her bum.  
  
Sam got to work cutting vegetables. It was clear that he was doing his best to distract himself from what had just happened. Arwen wondered if that was the hobbit's first time seeing death—not some slow decline of mortal age or sickness, but the quick and sudden violence of a life cut untimely short.  
  
She felt moisture seep from her cunt at this thought, and Aragorn's manhood thumped her insides, scratching the best and worst itch she had ever known. It was sublime.  
  
She luxuriated in his arms, and gazed into the pot. The elleth had known what she was doing, and even if striking her head on the bottom had not killed her, then it at least stunned her, and it was doubtless she would be unaware of the boiling water as it rushed into her mouth and drowned her.  
  
Arwen felt disappointed by this. She had wanted to see the maiden suffer.  
  
Less volition would the next be permitted, and harder of heart would she need to make the cook. But there would be time enough for that in days to come.  
  
A bolt of pleasure shot through her, and Arwen was distracted from her musings as Aragorn thrust into her with more power still, filling her up and exploring her body and making her come with a long, low moan.  
  
The elleth began to boil, and Arwen came in a torrent, gushing out for all to behold.  
  
Steam rose from the pot, and nectar spurted onto the grass.  


* * *

The appointed envoys set out after a feast in which elf-maiden stew was the centerpiece. Arwen and Aragorn were the only ones to partake of that, and most of the others ate very little else. It was a tense, unappy occasion for the majority. No song or ceremony could disguise the origin of Arwen's soup, which she ate greedily by elven standards, though to the dwarves and men and hobbits she seemed quite graceful still. Nor could the fear of Arwen's wrath, or the awe of her beauty, wholly cow them yet into obedience of her whims.  
  
But Aragorn at least was willing to partake of the stew with her, and he agreed wholeheartedly with Arwen's conclusion that it was good. Indeed, it seemed to both the most delicious meal they had ever eaten, and Arwen had lived over two millennia in Rivendell, where the food was always excellent beyond compare. To them it now seemed a very different kind of shame than before that elves were so sparse in Middle-earth, for their flesh was exquisite.  
  
"Yet perhaps mortal women shall prove near as good," said Aragorn fairly, watching as the last envoy departed. He stood naked beside Arwen, wholly unclad save for a belt to which the broken blade reforged was clasped in a sheath. "Daughters of Westernesse, at least, have a fairness distantly recalling that of the Eldar."  
  
"Distantly," Arwen sighed. "If my people were only fruitful, perhaps we might indulge more often in such dainties. Enough of the stew remains for several more meals, if only you and I eat it, but beyond that..."  
  
She glanced around at the elves of Imladris, perceiving both the seen and the unseen, the flesh without and the thought within. No veil or garb or wall of stone could block her gaze, and far and wide she could look hither or thither to many places at once. Such power was in the One Ring to let her do this as she wished.  
  
Few even of the highest and noblest lords and ladies residing in Imladris still thought of defying her in more than a fleeting wish, a notion which comes into the mind and passes swiftly away, discarded in sadness for its simple impossibility. Some were willing to serve her gladly, but these were mostly young elves of less wisdom who saw her great beauty, shining like a star, and were smitten.  
  
No elf or elleth would serve Sauron the Deceiver, for his treachery had done too much evil in their long history, and he could assume no form fair to look upon. He was hideous. Terrible and fearsome and great, perhaps, but also foul and monstrous and black as the empty night. But the Evenstar was lovely, still—by the reckoning of many, indeed, even lovelier than ever before with her possession of the ring and the changing of her body.  
  
Arwen absently caressed Aragorn's chest, feeling hard muscles tense at her touch. It felt good to touch him, and she was loth to be parted from him. She fondled his breast. It was firm and powerful, and a fire burned ever inside it.  
  
"If the elves were only more numerous, we might have them as kine to breed and slaughter in their turn," she said, speaking half to herself as she caressed her lover's bosom.  
  
"Is it not within your power to amend this, my beloved? You could command them, surely," said Aragorn. "You could enchant and arouse them, and thereby compel them to breed as any livestock."  
  
"So I could," said Arwen slowly, smiling. "Yes, all in their best interest, of course. The Eldar have become too few in number. They musn't be allowed to perish in Middle-earth."  
  
"Ever you speak fairly and wisely," said Aragorn. "Most worthy queen, under your yoke would Men and Elves be gladdest. Your beauty shall win the hearts of all who behold you, and your wisdom is deep beyond measure. You are immortal and fairest and greatest of all."  
  
"Your tongue is wrought from silver, or so I should deem it by sound!" said Arwen with a laugh. "But your words seem right, and they ring clearly true. I am the most beautiful and the wisest, and the most powerful also. No one in Middle-earth is more worthy than I to lead the free peoples."  
  
"Yea, no toll of wealth or long ages in service could repay the generous boon of your lordship over them, most excellent and beloved Evenstar!" Aragorn cried, kneeling and kissing her ring. "Even the wise are as mere sheep beside you, and as shepherd is it not your right to decide their manner of life and time of death? Breed them, beloved. Make the Eldar numerous, and take your toll from their flesh."  
  
"Such would be just," said Arwen, shifting her legs and cocking her hips. "All that you say mirrors my own thought, as if my heart speaks to me through your mouth. You know my mind as no other can. I love you, Elessar. You will be my king."  
  
Aragorn gazed into her eyes with a slavish devotion, drinking in the sight of her glorious body. His cock stirred.  
  
"I would be happy were I the lowest thrall in all your realm," said he, "so long as I were still permitted to look upon you, fairest Lady Arwen."  
  
Her eyes danced with lusty merriment, and her arms crossed under her bosom, lifting the ponderous mounds.  
  
"Do not look, only. That cannot satisfy me."  
  
Again, Aragorn kissed her hand. His lips lingered several seconds, and his manhood rose infinitesimally more.  
  
"I am ever your servant, Queen of the Night."  
  
"So will be all who dwell in this Middle-earth."  
  
Aragorn smiled, and he looked up again at her pale breasts, so large and soft and plump. With the foresight afforded to his kind, enhanced by the power of Vilya, and also with an insight into Arwen's heart born both of love and his bond to her through the rings, he spoke.  
  
"And on the sweetest flesh of the fairest maids alone shall you dine. No other meats will serve. Only such bread as is carved from an elleth's breast is worthy of your table, Arwen the Beautiful."  
  
"No wine could taste sweeter than a woman's milk, unless it be her blood," Arwen added, licking her lips. "Yes, only such fare as that will sustain me hereafter."  
  
"For myself, the nectar of your womanhood would be sweeter still," Aragorn said, glancing now at her sex.  
  
Arwen laughed, and leaning back she spread her legs. A passing elf of the household flushed at the sight of this and hurried on, pretending not to see. Aragorn smiled and stooped lower, bending forward until his breath was brushing her nether lips.  
  
"A toast," said he, pressing his lips against her sacred chalice, "to Queen Undómiel,"  
  
Arwen shivered and let out a sigh of contentment. She laid a hand on Aragorn's head and pressed his face between her legs. She felt his tongue flit eagerly into her blossom.  
  
"And King Elessar," she moaned.

* * *

It proved an even simpler matter to compel the elves of Rivendell to breed than Arwen expected. Just by walking past she could bend their thoughts onto her body, and simply seeing her in all of her naked glory did much to encourage them. Elves were great lovers of beauty, and however obscene or even grotesque her proportions might seem to their sensibilities, still Arwen was beautiful beyond compare.  
  
And she sang as she walked, going clad in no more than a nightingale. Her songs were of crude, vulgar things, praising excess and indulgence and sexual depravity, yet they were so melodious, and her voice so compelling, that even the most restrained lords and ladies found themselves deeply aroused. Arwen stirred them up and kindled lust within their hearts, singing of how good and wonderful it was to mate, to breed, and to quicken.  
  
Elves were filled with lust, driven to fuck. Elleths became licentious and obsessed with having children. Without care, the Eldar of Imladris began fornicating openly and frequently. Such was the power of Arwen's voice and visage to sway and enchant them. Many elf-maidens became with child in the first week, and Arwen sang to the babes in their wombs, urging them to quickly grow.  
  
Elessar her beloved was much help. He used the power of Vilya and his own Númenórean grace to hasten the young, so that by the month's end a score of elven children had been born. Their mothers became pregnant again as soon as they could—sooner, indeed, than was wholly advisable. And Elessar nurtured the young in accordance with Arwen's designs, their bodies made by the powers of Vilya and the One to accomplish the growth of fifty years ere the first of the messengers had even returned.  
  
This was not good for the children's minds. Though in stature they grew rapidly to the fullness of elven manhood and womanhood, they were not taught much, and indeed their minds were nearly empty. They had neither wisdom nor cunning nor craft of any sort, scarcely more than beasts in their thought and even less in their words, dumb as no elf had been since the first awakening under stars in days before days.  
  
Arwen was not wholly satisfied with this, for the thought of treating her people as kine was pleasurable to her chiefly because they were so lofty and noble. It was thrilling to debase them, and she found much less delight in abusing these witless babes, though their flesh was as delectable as that of any other elf.  
  
Still, for now it would suffice to swell her people's numbers.  
  
The matter of this mindless elf-chattel could be remedied later, perhaps. They could at least breed and produce more young themselves, and by the time word began to return from Arwen's errand runners, the elves of Rivendell had swollen to twice again their former numbers. Those who defied Arwen were the first to be culled, and she and Elessar and the witless young feasted on the flesh of many great lords and ladies.  
  
Erestor made for a delectable roast, and Glorfindel was baked into a peerless meat pie. Her own father Arwen personally flayed and dried, butchering the Lord Elrond and preserving his flesh. One each of his testicles she made her brothers eat, and his phallus she split between herself and Elessar. Elrohir and Elladan dared not defy Arwen, and she gave them each three of the loveliest newborn elleths to do with whatever they wished, as a reward for their obedience.  
  
Despite themselves, the twins were not wholly displeased with this gift.  
  
As for Elrond's skin, Arwen had it tanned and treated. Black it was died, and it was cut and stitched and layered together. A fair garment was made of the skin, a tunic of leather strips fitted to Arwen's body, little more than a scant array of thongs strapped here and there about her salacious figure. Her breasts were supported if not covered, her buttocks lifted and separated, and while some of her body was concealed by the elf-leather, none of it included her most intimate places.  
  
The garment was, by all accounts, the most lewd dress yet conceived within the bounds of Middle-earth. In another world and another age it might have been called like unto a dominatrix outfit, but such a concept did not there and then exist in any recognizable fashion. It was entirely new, something never before seen in such style or use, and the sight of Arwen wearing it struck awe and wonder in the hearts of the first messengers to return.  
  
Gimli came bowing low, leading a retinue of Lórien elves and bearing a message from the Lord Celeborn. Behind him, guarded by several tall and armed Sylvan elves, clad in a mass of heavy robes and muffled behind a thick veil, was the Lady Galadriel. The Lothlórien elves marveled at Arwen's body and manner of dress, and they asked if she had been stricken by the same malady as had befallen their lady.  
  
"Malady?" said Arwen, looking from the ruddy-faced dwarf to the fair woodland folk.  
  
"Yes, lady," said Haldir, a trusted marchwarden and faithful follower of Celeborn and Galadriel. "Some curse or black sickness has befallen her. Perhaps it was devised by the Enemy, who even now musters his forces east of the river, for certainly it seems a thing of such cruelty as he would find amusing."  
  
"You believe Sauron to have stricken my grandmother with a curse in the heart of her realm? I do not think he is so powerful... not at present."  
  
"What else could explain this affliction?" cried one of the other Sylvan elves, looking around. "We have given you the lord's message, and you can see for yourself what evil has befallen the lady."  
  
Galadriel chose then to fall backward onto a great, pillowy ass, her hood falling away to reveal a fair face twisted into a shameless expression. A movement within the robes betrayed, even without use of any preternatural sight, that she was touching herself beneath the garment, rubbing her breasts and fingering her sex. Her eyes rolled, and she licked her lips shamelessly, squirming and incoherently moaning.  
  
The dwarf Gimli went redder still, and his eyes tore themselves from Arwen's body to gaze at Galadriel. A glimpse of pale flesh appeared from under shifting robes, and Gimli gulped, a shiver wracking his stout form. He fingered the elven ring, Narya, and Arwen saw all his thoughts. She smiled to perceive his desire of her grandmother, and she inclined her head at the elves in Galadriel's escort.  
  
"There are powers in this world other than Sauron," she said slowly. "Not all evil, and not all good. Some exist for their own purposes, and some are greater than he or Galadriel."  
  
"Yet surely few such powers dwell east of the great sea," said Haldir. "And if they so afflict the ladies Arwen and Galadriel, then I at least deem them evil."  
  
He looked at Arwen's body and garb with something like pity.  
  
How amusing. He did not yet suspect the truth.  
  
"Galadriel shares in the doom of the Noldor," Arwen said. "Perhaps the Valar, or a greater power still, have chosen to visit retribution upon her at long last. I would not dare to defy their will, were I you."  
  
"The lady did not take part in the Kinslaying," protested one of the more learned wood elves, "Or any of the the other evils of the Noldor. She is blameless of those ancient crimes."  
  
"Yet she did little to stay them, or to amend the evils they did," said Arwen. "She was content to settle in a quiet realm and pretend that the world outside had no importance. Her plots and devices have driven the counsels of many, and I daresay that she is as much to blame for Sauron's return as any of the wise."  
  
Arwen's words were hard, now.  
  
Elessar stepped forward, and he laid a terrible glance on the Sylvan elves of Lothlórien. His eyes were bright yet without warmth, and Haldir stepped back.  
  
"You are changed, Lady Arwen," said he, eyeing Aragorn with a frown. "There is something unwholesome about you, and your words tell much that I am unhappy to now guess."  
  
"Much you ought to have guessed at your first glimpse of me," said Arwen haughtily. "My body is changed like Galadriel's, yet what could explain my garb? And why do my eyes still shine with wisdom, while she who was once so great is now aught but a mindless harlot?"  
  
Arwen stepped forward, and her bosom quaked. Her hips swayed as she advanced, and her eyes shone perilously. A mirthless smile curled lips as red as blood.  
  
"Bow to your queen," said Elessar, his voice clear and yet distant. "Render unto her all that you owe."  
  
Gimli stepped forward at this, and shivering he produced Narya, bowing low and raising it up to Arwen.  
  
"The ring," he said quietly, anxiously. "I have done as you asked."  
  
"You will be rewarded handsomely," said Arwen. "Durin's bane shall be driven from Moria, and you will be its king. Galadriel shall be your trophy."  
  
Haldir tensed at this, and several of the other Sylvan elves cried out in shock.  
  
"What madness do you speak, Lady Arwen? Has some fell mood come over you?"  
  
"Did you not hear Elessar?" said Arwen coldly. "He commanded you to bow. Your queen stands before you, and she will abide no further insolence."  
  
Her eyes flashed, and the Sylvan elves of Lothlórien quailed. Haldir fell to his knees, looking half as if he had been forced down, and he trembled.  
  
Galadriel writhed on the floor. Her robes peeled away seemingly of their own accord, revealing her naked body. Arwen fingered Narya thoughtfully, then raised the One Ring aloft. Galadriel screamed joyfully, and she came in a torrent, dousing the ground with her juices. Milk sprayed from her nipples, and the elves of Lothlórien stared in a mix of horror and fascination.  
  
"Have your way with her," Arwen said. "Drink her milk and come in unto every her every orifice. Do this, and I will forgive your ignorance. I am Queen Undómiel, and all shall serve me gladly. Gaze on my beauty, and despair!"  
  
A whip like a silvery shadow appeared in her hand, and with a loud CRACK she swept it over her head. Light fell about her like stardust, and it pierced their eyes as painfully as if they had been orcs looking at the sun.  
  
"What do you want from us? Why are you doing this?" wailed the elves of the Golden Wood in miserable tones.  
  
Arwen struck Haldir with her whip. His clothes were torn away, and he was left unarmed. A bright red welt quickly formed on his back.  
  
"I do this because I can," she said coldly. "You will do as I command and ask no questions! I am the master of the One Ring. I am the Queen of Middle-earth. With Elessar at my side, I will free all good people from the tyranny of Sauron, and in thanks they will worship me and pay me great tribute. I am Arwen Undómiel, and you will obey me or PERISH!"  
  
With her last word, Haldir gasped and went limp and did not move again. His eyes were sightless, and his body went still as a statue. Haldir's fellows looked on him and saw that he was dead, and at last they were utterly broken.  
  
Then Arwen smiled, perceiving this, and on the brow of each surviving member of the retinue she placed a kiss. Her bosom heaved in their faces, and her lips lingered long on their skin. She licked their cheeks and caressed their groins, peering lustfully into their eyes.  
  
At once, a change came over them. They grew placid and servile, and they bowed gladly to her and did as she bade, stripping and moving to fuck the Lady Galadriel each in turn, making her cry out in pleasure and roil euphorically beneath them.  
  
And when the elves had finished, Arwen told Gimli to drag Galadriel off, and to use her as he saw fit. The dwarf gulped but looked excited, and he did not hesitate to touch the lady's body. Galadriel moaned and smiled slavishly at the dwarf, and she fondled herself obscenely before his eyes.  
  
Arwen saw this, and she deemed that it was good.


	3. Mustering Lust

The months of winter came and went. Saruman was cast down by the Nazgûl, whose black sorceries were now intermingled with the elven virtues of their new master, and Khamûl the Easterling took the keys of Orthanc and became its captain, asserting himself as the leader of all Saruman's former forces. The Uruk-hai of the White Hand served him now, and they received a new brand and token, that of Arwen.

A green stone nestled over a white bosom, both drawn with a single looping stroke; below that a wave-line with three crests and two troughs, a womanhood spread apart with a star between its lips. Elf-stone on the breast of Evenstar, and elven motherhood birthing the race of Westernesse. This was the heraldric charge of Queen Undómiel, wife of Tar-Elessar, last high royalty of Númenor in Middle-earth.

And the Witch-king and his lieutenant Morgomir went south and east, crossing the Anduin and coming to Minas Morgul, where the Nazgûl had long ruled. They drove out those faithful to Sauron and claimed the Tower of Sorcery in the name of the High King and his queen. It was black still, and black were they also, but an elven light came from them, and their blackness was that of the night sky lit with stars. Evil still, but less foul and loathsome, and Minas Ithil once more shone as the moon.

The remainder of the Nazgûl moved on the pass of Cirith Gorgor, and the Black Gate and the Towers of the Teeth. Splitting into three groups of two, they assailed in unison the watchtowers of Carchost and Narchost, and the central gate of the Morannon. The orcs fled in terror, as much from the malice of the Ringwraiths as the fell, elvish light that now came from them. Their power reflected that of their master, and even without the ring Arwen could have dismayed lesser orcs with the light of her glance.

So the Nine took and held in the name of Arwen Evenstar the three strongholds most crucial to the Enemy's invasion. This bought much time for the free peoples to muster their forces and gather together.

The Rohirrim had no more to fear from Saruman, and the Dunlendings and Uruk-hai and wolf-riders of Isengard swept north up the Misty Mountains, slaying or subjugating all the orcs in all the innumerable dwellings therein. In this way they came even to Moria, which in gladder days had been called variously Hadhodrond and Casarrondo by the Elves, Phurunargian or Dwarrowdelf by Men, and Khazad-dûm by the dwarves who delved it in the elder days of the world.

By this point the forces of Isengard were swollen by conscripts from orcs and other wicked things that they had conquered. The wild hillfolk and herdsmen of Dunland refused to pass the Sirannon or enter the Dimrill Dale, however, and they turned back south to ready their own lands for the rest of the war. So it was that only foul things, Uruk-hai and goblins and trolls and wargs, entered into Moria and did battle with the orcs who dwelt there, and at the last, into the midst of this great war beneath the mountains, came Durin's Bane.

All wicked things in Moria perished far from the light of day. Orcs slew each other, and were devoured by wolves and flame, and so great was the furor of those who bore Arwen's crest that they did not fly before the coming of the balrog but stayed and fought. Uruk-hai hewed it with broad swords and heavy axes, and orcs shot it with short bows and poison arrows, and trolls smote it with clubs and cast great stones upon it, and wolves lept at it and savaged it in a fey madness.

So terrible was the balrog's might that all these things fell before it, burned to ash and utterly destroyed. But great were the forces of Isengard and the Misty Mountains, and perhaps less great also was Durin's Bane than it had been in the Elder Days. Thus, when it rose in wrath from the east gate, enraged and filled with a black hate by the insolence of the Isengarders, falling on the eaves of Lórien from Nanduhirion, it was weakened and wounded from the long battle.

And when Lord Celeborn met Durin's Bane in defiance, the balrog of Moria found itself overmatched, and it was smote through the breast by ancient elven blades, shot by arrows of the Wood-elves and harried by clear cries of "Elbereth!" Celeborn himself smote the balrog with a long spear like to that of Gil-Galad, though of less noble heritage, and he ran the devil through and drove it into the icy waters of Kheled-zâram, falling with it into the dark depths of the Mirrormere.

Those waters quenched the balrog utterly, and the starlight reflected in them washed away its darkness, that lake being a place of virtue and strange power. But Celeborn did not rise again from the waters, either, slain perhaps by a final malice of Durin's Bane. Durin's stone stood over the place where Celeborn drove the balrog into the lake, and long did the people of Lothlórien mourn beside it, and about its feet they would afterwards plant many fair flowers of the Golden Wood, and _mellyrn_ would grow about the lake in latter years, a fair glade where Queen Undómiel would come ever and anon to visit Hadhodrond or her mother's people.

Those would be evil occasions for the Elves, if profitable to the Dwarves.

Meanwhile Mordor itself was bottled up, stoppered at both the high pass of Cirith Ungol and the Morannon in Cirith Gorgor by the power of the Ringwraiths. The orcs dared not assail either the Black Gate or the Tower of Sorcery, for the dread of the Nazgûl was great, and their power had waxed to its fullest height. They were as mighty as they had ever been, great kings of old empowered by the nine rings, endowed with fell magic and uncanny arts, in stature as fearsome as the Kings of the Sea, and they could be slain by no orc-craft.

The Southrons would be unable to enter Mordor, and even the towering _annabon_ , the mûmakil of Harad, would avail nothing against the fastness of the Black Gate. No power was there in Mordor save that of Sauron himself which could suffice to break the siege of the Nazgûl, and Sauron was wary of exposing himself, much troubled by the betrayal of his most terrible servants. No wicked men of Rhûn, nor Variags of Khand, nor dread Olog-hai or black Mordor uruks would avail to cast down the Ringwraiths from their places of power in Carchost, Narchost, and Minas Ithil, from which they troubled the forces of the Black Land with much fear and devilry.

The lands of Gondor were free for a time from the depredations of Mordor, and the Haradrim and were dismayed to find the Black Land held against them. Stymied, most of them turned back to their own countries and troubled not the west, and only those who were deepest in service to Sauron camped outside the Morannon and awaited report from the Dark Lord.

These found themselves slain by rangers of Ithilien or darts of the Nazgûl.

So the winter months were a time of relative peace for the free peoples, a time in which to muster their strength, and at the urging of Arwen's messengers they took up arms and ordered themselves in preparation for one last, great war. Halflings of the Shire, and Bree-men, and Dúnedain of the North, and Black Númenóreans (made after an age and a half of rebellion to acknowledge the sovereignty of the Lords of Andúnië) marched to Rivendell where they were compelled in fear and wonder to pledge undying allegiance to Queen Evenstar. Their captains were greeted with a feast of elf meat in the Last Homely House, and mindless, degraded elleths serviced leaders and soldiers alike with their slim and lovely bodies.

Tar-Elessar and Queen Arwen led this force west through the High Pass with the first thaw of spring. Heartened as this army was by the hospitality of Arwen, not even the meekest hobbit archers hesitated to march day and night behind her and the High King. They made incredible time, driven onward by the power of Evenstar and the One Ring, following in a worshipful trance the sway of her perfect and voluminous rear, unwearying and fearless for as long as her beauty was in their minds.

Such speed they made in their march that only a day after coming back down from the Misty Mountains they had crossed the Old Ford and reached the Carrock within sight of Mirkwood. There they met the outlying forces of Thranduil led by Legolas, and many Beornings and other woodsmen who had mustered there as well under the command of Grimbeorn the Old.

The rest of the Mirkwood elves were further south, alongside Dalings and Bardings and Dwarves of Erebor who had marched south and west through the East Blight to meet King Thranduil before the gates of Dol Guldur, where they had besieged it through the winter and finally emptied it of all forces. Along with more Elves who had come up from the Golden Wood across Anduin, these armies were even now laying waste to Sauron's old stronghold, demolishing it so utterly that no stone would lay atop another when they were done.

Further east, also, Dwarves of the Iron Hills were receiving aid from their distant kin who had long dwelt in the Orocarni, the Red Mountains. The houses of the Khazâd were uniting for a final war, and along with them came Easterlings who did not serve Sauron, and also a number of the Avari, strange and rustic Elves living in distant eastern lands who were sundered from the Eldar and the Sindar so long ago that among the living in Middle-earth only Cirdan, Fangorn, and Iarwain Ben-adar could remember it.

Arwen rode south at the head of the army, sitting in Elessar's lap atop his trusty steed Roheryn. The bulge of the king's cock nestled between her nether cheeks, rubbing against her rear gate through the scant elf-leather thong which parted her buttocks. She held the reins, and Elessar held her, kissing her now and then when the mood struck her, cupping and fondling her bosom. Sometimes she had Elessar take his manhood out and slip aside the thong made from her father's skin, lifting her and thrusting into her in time with the horse's gait.

She luxuriated in his touch at these moments, and her power swelled whenever the two of them joined. It was during such a period as this that the army they led crossed paths with the forces of Thorin III Stonehelm, Prince Brand, and King Thranduil. This swelled their army thrice over, and it was with the beginnings of a truly great host that they passed the Gladden Fields, Azanulbizar, Lórien, and Dol Guldur. They rode and marched down the curve of the Anduin where it bent around the southern end of Mirkwood.

Across the water they saw the Field of Celebrant, and coming to the North Undeep they saw the Brown Lands on their side of the river, the Emyn Muil rising up southward. The Wold of northern Rohan was to their west over the Great River. Arwen could see Fangorn Forest far across the rolling fields, and she perceived the Onodrim stirring within it. And southward from there, beyond the gaze of even the sharpest-eyed elves, she could see also a great force of the Rohirrim assembling about Edoras.

They were a tall people and fair, fell and valiant descendants of the Edain who had fought against Morgoth yet chosen not to go into the West at the end of the Elder Days. Strength of arm they had, and much skill in the taming and riding of horses; indeed, they were more skilled in this than any other house of Men in the West. They were not a commonly lettered folk, and they did not remember the days of yore, or any old friendship with the elves. Their most ancient legends hardly stretched any further back than the middle years of this Third Age, when they had still been a nomadic people dwelling in the Vales of Anduin.

Even in battle and sport of arms, in which the Rohirrim took pride second only to their mastery of horses, they could not match the old Sea Kings, and in all else they were a simple folk and rustic. Still, they were as worthy in battle as any but the Dúnedain and the Elves, and even in Gondor there were few now who recalled enough of the stature and glory of Westernesse to roundly outmatch the Horse Lords of the Riddermark. By the measure of most folk in these lesser years of Middle-earth, the Rohirrim were a fell and doughty race, and that was good enough.

They were also comely, more importantly, and in at least one maiden of that race Arwen saw an exceptional loveliness, and a fierce spirit. A daughter of kings she was, tall and slender with hair of pale gold and clear steely eyes. She was slender as a willow wand, firm as the mountain's root, and cold as a deathly frost. Her spirit was blighted, her heart troubled, and she was grim and sorrowful, yet still fiercely determined.

Éowyn was she, a most worthy lady of the Eorlingas, sister-daughter of Théoden King, fair maidchild of Éomund and Théodwyn grown to full womanhood. Éowyn was a troubled soul, fair and strong and intelligent after the fashion of her race, and in her heart Arwen glimpsed the desire to be had by a great and worthy man, a mighty lord and captain who could raise her to honor and esteem surpassing the House of Eorl, which in her youthful bitterness seemed a low and ignoble thing.

Arwen smiled, amused by what she saw in the heart of Éowyn. Here was a daughter of men such even as Elessar had said might exist, very lovely and almost elvish, if only most distantly. Éowyn was beautiful beyond the ordinary measure of the Eorlingas, who were by no means an unhandsome people, for there was Gondorian blood in her veins, the slightest trickle of Westernesse diluted over long years. There was perhaps even one half of one half of a single drop of elvish blood in her, an ancestry so far flung and distant that no virtue did it grant except somewhat exceptional beauty for a woman of her race.

There were lovelier maidens in Gondor, and among the surviving daughters of Arnor, but still there was something about Éowyn which drew Arwen's thought to her. She was a fell woman with a fierce heart, wild yet stern, and blighted by an untimely frost. Arwen felt Narya flicker as a living tongue of flame between her heaving breasts, and she knew at once what she wished to do.

"Come, my king," she said to Elessar, leaning back against him and grinding her sex in his lap. "I see a maiden worth my blessing. Mayhaps she will be a servant in our bedchambers when you claim your rightful kingship, or else a concubine given to some noble man who has rendered you service befitting so high a reward."

"Or perhaps," Elessar whispered into her ear, a touch of amusement in his tone, "You will take her for yourself to milk and breed and slaughter in her turn."

Arwen laughed, and it sent shivers down the backs of all who heard it.

"Nay, love! Not slaughter," she said. "But I will breed her, yes; perhaps even with you, Tar-Elessar, to produce daughters matching the savor and richness of fair elf-maidens. And she will be milked, yes, she will be milked even as Galadriel is, my grandmother whom the soldiers use even now as a walking dairy and buttery."

Elessar looked back through the ranks, where Legolas of the Wood and Gimli of the Mountain marched alongside each other between the forces of their respective kindreds. The dwarf led Galadriel by a fine golden chain that wrapped around her neck in a cunningly wrought choker, while the elf prince kneaded the queenly elleth's vast bosom and pinched her nipples. Legolas induced Galadriel to spurt milk into cups that were filled and then passed far and wide to quench the thirsts of the marching soldiers, who drank gladly it, if sparingly: a single sip of her milk was as filling and strengthening as a whole cake of lembas.

Occasionally, Galadriel would stumble or lag behind, and it was assuredly intentional on her part, at least inasmuch as that shrunken and degraded mind could be said to intend anything. When the chain went taut, the choker around her neck would tighten, and it would throttle her with fine golden links. She clearly enjoyed this, for she would writhe and come whenever the chain began to garrote her slender throat, and she would stand stubbornly still as Gimli marched on and pulled the chain still, dwarf-crafted gold choking the fair lady.

When this happened, Legolas would laugh and sing a few lines of some raunchy Sylvan ballad, before saying to Gimli:

"The Lady Galadriel strays behind you, master dwarf. Her white face goes blue as the chain bites her throat, and I think she will die soon if you do not slacken the lead."

And Gimli would answer, in habit and good humor: "Then she will die, and Queen Evenstar will make a worthy feast of her flesh! I only hope I get a final turn with the Lady Galadriel before she goes in the pot."

He would then punctuate his words with a sharp tug of the chain, and Galadriel would topple forward onto her bosom, gushing both milk and arousal with her face twisted into an expression of the utmost obscenity.

Again, Legolas would laugh, and lightly he would sidestep to tread on Galadriel's great rear, barely depressing her pillowy flesh. She would wriggle her hips in respone to this and work her mouth open and closed as if to moan in pleasure or cry out in pain, even though no sounds but gagging would come forth.

"She is good meat," Legolas would say in agreement. "Rarely have I even seen cattle so fat and ripe for roasting."

And Gimli would laugh in turn then double back, loosening the chain around Galadriel's neck before stomping hard on her other cheek and planting the butt of his axe firmly between her corpulent, creamy buttocks. Galadriel would scream then, wordless cries of pleasure as she gulped down air and thrashed euphorically beneath Elf and Dwarf. Then Legolas and Gimli would haul her back to her feet and drive her on to walk along once more behind them, and she would follow gracefully and obediently for another while longer.

The pair were in the middle of stomping a half suffocated Galadriel's ass as Elessar looked, and he smiled in amusement. His manhood hardened and pulsed in Arwen's soaking flower. She moaned happily at this and rocked her hips, and her mind was made up before Elessar even came in unto her.

Arwen turned west beyond the South Undeep, picking out a clever path through the Emyn Muil, and riding Elessar atop Roheryn she led her army around the foot of Amon Lhaw, where she contrived a crossing over Nen Hithoel. The power of the One Ring was in her, and the cock of Tar-Elessar filled her up. In the joining of their sexes, she sang and raised a bridge which spanned the lake, rising up from the Hill of Hearing and bounding over to the island of Tol Brandir, and then falling to the foot of the Hill of Sight, Amon Hen.

They passed over the grassy lawn of Parth Galen, and drove with unnatural speed to Rohan. In a single day they passed southwest over the Eastemnet and came to the meeting of Entwash and Snowbourn, where they crossed and came into the Eastfold. After another half-day they had come within sight of Edoras, and the sharp-eyed watchers of the Rohirrim marveled fearfully at the speed with which they came.

Arwen rode up to the foot of the hill, and the guards stopped her with a shout, looking worriedly at the great, strange force which rode up behind her. Though several thousand Rohirrim were mustered in and about Edoras, their numbers were only a fraction of those to come at Arwen's heels, and the horse lords were troubled also to see many dwarvish and elvish folk among their number.

"Who are you?" they asked, laying hands on their weapons and eyeing Arwen suspiciously. Her appearance was the most outlandish of all the host. "What business have you in the Mark, and what dwimmercraft brings you hence in this manner? Our scouts have brought no word of you or your army."

"Unless they flew on the wings of eagles, your scouts could not have come here before us," said Arwen. "The horses of Rohan are quick-footed, but we are quicker. As for who we are, and what business we have here, it seems to me that I should asking you what _your_ business is in the Calenardhon. But if still you ask, then I will say to you that the business of the high king of Númenor and his queen is their own, and if they wish to bring an army through their realms of old then none have any right stay or gainsay them."

The guards stepped back, and their hands left their weapons. Such was the force of Arwen's words, and the power of the One Ring to daunt them. They glanced at Elessar who sat beneath and behind the scarcely clad Arwen, and they saw that he was tall and dark as the men of Gondor, fair of face and radiating a sense of power and nobility. In their hearts they guessed that this was a man of greatness beyond their reckoning, and behind Arwen he seemed greater still, lit up by the glow of her beauty which made all things about her seem fairer and more wondrous.

"You speak of Númenor," said one of the guards. "You do not mean the old sea-realm of Westernesse from which the lords of Gondor hail, do you?"

"The very same," Arwen declared. "You look upon the brother-daughter of Elros Tar-Minyatur, first king of Númenor, and her husband Aragorn Tar-Elessar, true descendant of Last-king Arvedui of Arnor, and through him of High King Elendil of Gondor and Arnor, and of Princess Silmariën through the Lords of Andúnië. We ride to Minas Anor with the armies of the north, where we shall claim our rightful rule and lead the free peoples in war against Sauron. If you are friends to the line of Mardil, then you will aid us."

The guards marveled, and they beheld the full royalty of Arwen and Elessar. They seemed ageless and wise, and very noble indeed by the measure of men.

"We shall inform Théoden King of your coming at once, great ones!" the guards exclaimed. "Lord Boromir indeed told us that such a thing as this might happen, and he bore a very marvelous sword as token of his errand. There are no blades in Edoras that could equal it. Now we see who could have given him so fair and high a treasure!"

And one of the guards turned and ran up to the steps of Meduseld. Arwen watched him go in amusement, and she bent her thought to the golden hall of the king of the Mark. Within it, she perceived the fair lady Éowyn, and her thoughts were black in anticipation. She raised a hand and grasped between her breasts, to where Narya was stowed. On the finger of Elessar, Vilya gleamed.

Galadriel fell upon the grass and came, Nenya throbbing on her finger, glassy eyes rolling in her sockets. Huge breasts heaved and wobbled, and a meaty ass smacked the ground. Legolas knelt and idly milked her a little more, while Gimli fiddled with his trousers and raised the skirt of his dwarf-mail corslet, then squatted down over the noble elleth's face and stuffed a short but very thick cock into her mouth to quiet her.

Growing swiftly contented, Galadriel sucked on the dwarf's phallus and wiggled her fat hips as Legolas molested her absurdly large tits. Her nipples gushed milk in long, spurting arcs. Arwen dismounted her beloved and the horse Roheryn, watching as elf and dwarf had their wicked way with her lustful, entirely broken and corrupted grandmother.

It never failed to arouse Arwen to see just how far the wise and noble lady had fallen before her power. And if she could do this to the highest and chiefest of the wise in Middle-earth, then what ruin might she visit on a mere mortal like Éowyn?

Arwen's loins burned at the thought, and she turned and raised her eyes to Meduseld. She saw the messenger come running back down, and to her delight he was followed by the very woman to whom her thoughts had been most frequently turned over these past few days.

Éowyn looked on Arwen with wonder, seeing first the dazzling beauty of the lady, which bewildered most eyes with her terrible loveliness. Arwen saw both respect and fear in the heart of Éowyn. For the lady, blinking quickly and shaking her head in a confused sort of way, came to see next the state of Arwen's dress, and now she was disturbed. No good folk dressed this obscenely, or so Éowyn's sensibilities told her.

She approached more slowly and cautiously. The skirt of her dress flowed around tentatively striding legs, long and shapely and perfectly visible to Arwen. She knew the shape and portion of Éowyn's every member, perceiving with absolute clarity the fashion of her body's growth inside and out. Éowyn was tall, slender, and very fair. Beautiful in the measure of mortal Men.

Gray eyes swept over Roheryn, and something in Éowyn's glance betrayed a shifting in her opinions, more respect than dismay when she saw the stature and quality and wellness of the steed. He was a good horse, tended with elvish craft and the care of rangers, and Éowyn could see the love Roheryn had for his masters. It was a belief of the Rohirrim that no wicked people could keep and tend a horse as well as this, for they judged the virtue of horse riders by how they cared for their steeds.

Then Éowyn looked up at Elessar who was still astride the noble horse, and her heart was smitten at the first glance. He seemed to her a mighty captain, tall and strong and worthy of the greatest praise, and there was a wisdom in his glance. He was dark-haired and handsome, with a visage that melted her heart and stirred a woman's desire in her belly.

Éowyn was strong and proud, and she often begrudged her birth as a maiden, loving tales of battle and great deeds, and resenting the notion that women should stay behind while the men rode out to win honor and glory. Yet if it were for a man as great as this, in her heart of hearts Éowyn thought that she would be content to wait and serve and bear many heirs, forgoing all hope of fame and renown. So high and noble was Elessar that to her even being a servant in his chamber would seem a station of honor to equal the mightiest captains and riders.

She was filled with wonder and desire, for if Elessar was possessed of a natural greatness and nobility, the ring Vilya increased his stature and worth further still until he could equal the wisest and most powerful kings of Westernesse. So it was that at first glance of him, Éowyn was left stricken as if an arrow had been shot through her heart.

Éowyn cried out in wonder and strode swiftly up to Elessar, staring at him in undisguised awe. Her face colored, and her heart quickened. With a trembling hand she reached out to him and bowed low in greeting.

"I am your servant, lord," she said, grasping Elessar's hand and kissing the back of it. Her lips lingered for many long seconds, and her eyes seemed to roll up to the whites. Moisture welled up between her legs as her stomach twisted and her loins burned, and a shamefully lewd noise escaped her, a moan of hunger and delight. "Nnnngh...❤"

Arwen was amused to see this lowly maid grow so quickly aroused. It was her chiefest power as the master of the One Ring to make those around her lustful and desirous of all things comely or beautiful. It was a power that came not from the ring, but from her own being, cultivated and enhanced by the One, but not created by it.

Arwen's bosom heaved and swayed as she reached between her vast breasts, grasping Narya between her fingers and producing it with a glint of ruby red.

"Here, good child," she said to Éowyn, presenting the elven ring to the lady of Rohan. "Elessar is already wed. I am his queen."

Éowyn turned at once to look at Arwen, finally tearing her lips from Elessar's hand. There was a flash of hate and jealousy in the blonde's eyes, sudden and fierce. She seemed undaunted by the One Ring, and she drew herself up to her full height as if to challenge Arwen.

Before Éowyn could speak or act, Arwen spoke again.

"I do not say that you cannot be with him," Arwen said. "Only that you cannot have him as I have him."

"Yet I would have him all the same," said Éowyn fiercely, defiant in her flaring passion. "Come not between us, or I will slay you."

Arwen laughed.

"Be at peace. Take this token of my blessing," she said lightly, holding Narya out to the blonde. "You who bear it will be second only to myself in Elessar's chambers."

"Nay, elf sorceress! I will be second to no woman," Éowyn stubbornly persisted.

"You will be second," Arwen said, and now her tone grew hard. "Or you will be last of all, least and basest whore in the wide realms of Westernesse."

A glint of madness came into Éowyn's eyes, and she gazed at the One Ring on Arwen's finger. The sight of it filled her with wrath and lust, and she sprang forth as if to throw Arwen down and take the ring from her. In that moment she looked fell and wicked, yet still very beautiful.

Arwen's eyes flashed.

"You are a fool," she said coolly.

Éowyn was caught mid-bound by the stroke of some unseen power. It knocked her onto her back, and she looked as if she had just been stunned by a heavy blow. Her eyes went wide and her mouth flew open in a sharp gasp. Arms and legs splayed on the grass about her. She was pinned down, and her face was red in shame, and her eyes cast themselves over her body.

A modest bosom rose and fell under the front of Éowyn's dress. She did not have large breasts, but they were nicely formed and fit her body quite well. Her bust was a subtle curve, an understated swell of pale flesh hidden beneath the white cloth of her dress. Éowyn stared resentfully at her feminine form, the softness where she could have been hard and strong, had she only been born a man.

The guards watched all of this, but they made no move to interfere. Already they were enraptured by the beauty of Arwen, and even seeing Lady Éowyn thrown down by some invisible blast of sorcery could not stir them to defiance against the Queen of Númenor. Not even when they saw the impossibly voluptuous elleth stoop low and slip something around Éowyn's finger could they find it in themselves to worry or care.

The gem set in Narya flashed as the fair metal band wrapped itself snugly on the ring finger of Éowyn's left hand, and Éowyn's bosom rose with a deep breath. Her eyes widened further still, and her body lurched in the dirt.

White fabric began to swiftly blacken and shrivel and peel apart like parchment cast into a fire, but no tongues of flame sprang up, and Éowyn's skin was unmarred. Her dress was burned to ash and blown away by a sudden blast of the north wind, and the fair maiden shivered as an immediate chill swept over her.

Her bosom seemed to swell. Creamy, pale flesh went rosy, a blush spreading down Éowyn's form. Her eyes glazed over and her breathing slowed into drawn out, shuddering rasps. The curve of her hips seemed more pronounced without the dress flowing over them, and her naked flower was wet from something other than sweat.

Éowyn's nipples stood up atop her breasts. They were stiff from a cold that only she could feel, plump and pinkish-brown. Her bosom quaked, and it looked to grow more impressive before the eyes of the watchers. She moaned, and loose strands of golden hair were blown across her face. Her eyes were glued to Elessar, and her legs spread apart, and she put a hand to the swell of her blossom and deftly parted rosy nether lips.

Moisture leaked onto the ground.

The guards watched in fascination, rapt and amazed by the state of fair Éowyn. This was a proud woman and lovely, stern and strong as few maidens were even among their warlike people, and very few men were there among the Eorlingas who could claim a better wife, sister, or daughter. Most young men not yet bound in troth to another—and even many who were—felt at times enflamed to lust by the beauty of Éowyn.

Maidens also desired her, or at least loved and admired her, and many now thronged upon the hillside. Curious of the great army outside the city they had come, and now closer they crept in wonder of Éowyn's nakedness. Many a comely young maid blushed and wondered if they might dare approach and indulge their secret dreams, loving Éowyn more than they loved many men, Éowyn who was strong in arms yet fair of face, and kindly natured yet fierce in sport, a woman who embodied all the best and highest virtues of their race.

Éowyn was to them as great and admirable as any mighty rider; more admirable indeed than a number of their menfolk, for she had maidenly worth as well as strength, being courteous and soft-spoken and compassionate at times, yet fell and grim and valiant at others. There was no station in all the Mark of which Éowyn would not prove worthy, they thought, no deeds of homestead or warfare that seemed too far beyond her reach.

"Look! The lady is more buxom than I should ever have guessed," whispered one young maiden to a friend, peering down to where Éowyn lay before the vast force at the hill's foot. "Is there nothing in which she cannot surpass all maidfolk, as well as the men? I had always thought myself fortunate in the size of my own bosom, but Lady Éowyn excels me, or else my eyes have failed utterly."

"Your eyes have not failed," her friend answered, gazing at the first maiden's breast, which seemed decidedly overample to fit in her dress. "I see it too, though I cannot believe it. I am a servant in the king's hall, you know, and I have at times rendered such aid to Lady Éowyn as one might expect of that station. Caring for Théoden King in his dotage was no small task, and I have many times drawn baths for her at the end of weary days."

"So you have told me many a time, and in excellent detail!" said the first maiden brightly, smiling at her friend. "But I am disappointed to see just how much you have hidden from me. I should think you might have mentioned how great her bosom was, though it escapes me how she could have concealed it. Even now it seems to grow vaster as I watch! How large they must be to bewilder me thus!"

"Nay, you are not bewildered," said the second maiden. "Nor have I hidden anything from you in my reports of the lady's beauty. But her bosom does grow greater before our eyes, unless some elvish dwimmercraft cheats us both. Look! Can you not see it? The shape of her teats changes, and they swell and bear down on her breast. They are longer and more plump, like bags stuffed full to bursting, though they neither sag nor stretch unseemly."

"Goodness, but I think you have it," the first maiden cried in a soft voice. "Yes, I see it now. They _are_ bigger than before, and growing bigger still. I cannot imagine how this is, but the proof of our eyes is not something I should soon mistrust. Her bosom grows greater and greater, and lo! Not only her bosom is growing!"

"Her hips widen also. Yes, I have noticed. Their breadth was what first caught my eye, and I have marked them closely since. She has surpassed me there by a tithe of an ell, and my mother always said I had good childbearing hips."

"Indeed, that, and her bottom. Do you see how her loins rise? It is only a little, but still I notice that her hips are climbing up in the air. I can see the curve of her rear, also, and it grows greater as I watch. Alas! Soon there will be no way in which the Lady Éowyn does not surpass us all."

"The thought does not upset me," the second maiden said, smiling. "She is very beautiful still. More than ever, my heart tells me, and I am most glad of this sight."

"Oh, as am I, also," said the first. "But what man should desire us when living perfection lies there naked at the hill's foot?"

"What man indeed?" wondered the second.


	4. In Edoras

Théodred son of Théoden looked upon his cousin Éowyn, who was debased and transfigured by some elvish devilry. Her form was voluptuous beyond any sense of need or want. Her bosom was vast, grossly plump teats heaving and wobbling atop her breast. Her bottom slapped the grass with a thump, great and heavy and round. Her limbs were askew, twisting this way and that as she writhed in the sunlight, moaning and mewling in ways he could never have imagined of her.

Théodred strode from the golden hall of Meduseld. His father had passed away of age in the winter, or of some malady which mimicked the slow and subtle work of years on mortal men, perishing in his bed three days after a black fear had passed into Isengard. Théodred had been called back from the ford by messengers of Edoras shortly after, and since then he had ruled as king of the Mark. Less than his father did he heed the word of Wormtongue, and when Boromir came traveling through his lands with news of a king returning to Gondor, and of a summons to war against the dark power in Mordor, Théodred had begun a great muster and arming of his people.

Éomer whom Théodred loved as a brother came beside him, and he looked in fearful wonder on the state of his sister. He was less dismayed in his heart than he ought, secretly finding the appearance of Éowyn somehow pleasing. She looked happy, at least, even if it was against the wont of their people to comport themselves in so lewd a manner. Éomer might have been more deeply concerned by Éowyn's state had his thought and gaze not been drawn so swiftly to another, to a tall and dark Elf-queen as voluptuous as Éowyn now was, clad also in more than Éowyn but less than anyone else.

Leather thongs wrapped lovingly around her body, which seemed to glow with an inner light, and her skin was white as snow yet flush with life. Eyes like stars shone under a black night, her hair long and dark beyond any recounting of mortal speech. Her bosom was bare, mountains of perfect flesh quivering, framed and lifted by strips of black leather around their base. Bare also was much of the rest of her body, a womanhood unclad, a posterior as grand and white as mighty Mundberg.

Éomer looked on Arwen in wonder, as did all of the Rohirrim who saw her. Even proud, masterful Théodred stared and felt humbled by the lust she kindled in his belly. At length these two proud lords of the Eorlingas stooped and bowed their heads, kneeling before Arwen beside the form of Éowyn.

"Hail, good lady!" said Théodred. "Never before have I laid eyes on one so wondrously fair and bold. Pray, who art thou?"

"I am Queen Undómiel," said Arwen. She clasped the hand of Elessar, who stood tall above Éowyn, gazing down on the shieldmaiden's transfigured nakedness. "And this is Tar-Elessar my beloved, High King of Gondor, Arnor, and all the realms of ancient Westernesse."

"That is a very great kingdom over which he rules, if indeed you speak sooth!" cried Éomer. "Yet if the host behind you is evidence, then your words are indeed without falsehood. The count of your army is beyond me. Scores of thousands it seems!"

"Your count is not far from the mark," said Elessar. "They number forty thousand at the least, but their numbers are drawn from many peoples and many lands. Your force is solely that of the Riddermark, and reckoned separately your numbers here are greater than those of any other single people under our banner, although to the whole you be only a part. Hark! It speaks highly indeed of the brotherhood between Gondor and Rohan that so many riders should be here gathered at the summons of Mundberg."

"We uphold the oath of Eorl the Young," said Théodred proudly. "To Cirion steward of Gondor he gave friendship and aid on the field of Celebrant, and ever since our peoples have sworn alliance. If you are the right king of Gondor, I would renew that oath with you."

"You would swear alliance only?" said Arwen.

Théodred nodded.

"Yea, Queen Undómiel. My people are akin to the Sunlendings from afar, to the Men of Númenor from over the sea. We are friends of Gondor, not its servants." He bowed low. "Not to Elessar King would I swear any fealty or service above that of brotherhood... but to yourself, who is beautiful beyond any daughter of men I have ever seen, I would give more."

"As would I," said Éomer. "If it is for the Queen, I will swear my life to its end, and service beyond even that to my own people. She is exceedingly fair, and the merest glimpse of her fills me with such a joy as I have never known. My heart burns, and I am..."

He trailed away and looked down at his sister. Théodred looked also at Éowyn.

Arwen beheld a gleam of desire in their eyes.

"Would you do as I command in all things?" she asked.

"I would," said Éomer and Théodred.

"Without question," added the former.

"Gladly and proudly," concluded the latter.

Arwen laughed.

"Then take up your kinswoman and ungird your loins, O lords of horses, and permit fair Éowyn to suckle your manhoods."

Éomer hesitated for a second, but Théodred was swift and unabashed in the presence of the Evenstar. King of the Mark and master of horses, he raised Éowyn to her knees with one hand, and with the other he uncovered a hardening cock and let it rise forth. Éowyn looked on it with a fierce thrill, and her eyes were bright as they feasted on the rod of Théodred Théoden's son.

She bowed her head and met Théodred's gaze. She took the king's spear in hand and blessed it with a joyful kiss, a deep and passionate kiss that gaped her mouth and swelled her cheeks, thrusting her down on her kinsman's cock. Éowyn sucked on Théodred's pride, and she met his eyes with a foolish smile.

"Your sister is earnest," said Théodred to his cousin. "I never would have dreamed that our proud Éowyn might prove so base a woman, or so skilled with her tongue."

He shuddered, then, and lost himself.

Wet noises came from Éowyn's mouth, and Éomer watched with a dread fascination. Something kindled in his eyes, and he swallowed. Éowyn's ass rocked, bobbing eagerly up and down, swaying mindlessly from side to side. Great teats quaked, leaking droplets of milk that streaked down the white expanse of her bosom. Arousal gushed from her blossom, staining supple thighs, making the rosy folds of a puffed, unfolding sex glisten.

Éomer felt himself grow hard. That this was his sister deterred him not. No shame could he make himself feel at his lust for her body, so marvelously shapesome and plump. He stared greedily at Éowyn's nakedness and forgot all else, even Théodred, even Arwen and Elessar and the hosts.

Éomer did as Théodred and let out his cock. His manhood was like to the king's in stature, long for Men and fairly thick. His loins were most worthy, his spear tall and stout, and he took that cock in hand and strode up to his sister, forgetting all else save lust in that moment.

Boldly Éowyn seized his hardness and stroked it, tugging his cock even as she served the king of Rohan. She stroked Eomer and sucked Theodred and rocked her hips and begged for more. Galadriel watched with mindless delight, and the hobbits Merry and Pippin sandwiched the Elf-lady's loins between them, one thrusting into her ass and another into her cunt.

Frodo and Bilbo masturbated themselves at Arwen's feet, enslaved to the lady's beauty. Bilbo looked younger, as though he had not changed a day since passing the Ring to Frodo, while Frodo himself looked in the fullness of health. Arwen listened to the chafing of the hobbits' manhoods in their hands, and the squelching in her grandmother's holes. A lazy, pleasurable moan slipped from her mouth, and with gleaming eyes she stepped up to Éowyn.

The blonde raised her free hand in greeting of the queen, and Narya glimmered upon her finger. Eyes rolled up to the white, glazed and gladly vacant as the once stern maiden debased herself with her nearest kin before the eyes of the riders of Rohan and forces of Arwen. And Arwen herself straddled Éowyn's uplifted hand, pressing her loins down upon the maiden's fingers.

Without shame or restraint, Éowyn plunged her fingers into Arwen. Narya burned, and she rubbed it inside the Evenstar's flower, and pressed the gem to a fleshy nub. Arwen cried out huskily and ground her hips, and she rode Éowyn's hand with a look of black lust in her eyes. Frodo and Bilbo came unto her feet, giving her only a slight release from all-consuming desire.

The royal cook, Samwise Gamgee, was with the aid of a spirited hobbit lass named Rosie sizing up the assembled Rohirrim and judging if any were there worthy to grace the queen's board. A few young knights were seen by Rosie to be fit and strapping. A number of maidens were marked by Samwise as tender and juicy and plump in the right ways. Those they deemed worthy were led away from the crowd, to a clear spot not far from the king and queen.

Sam and Rosie stripped the chosen Rohirrim and commanded them to lie down. Not a single one challenged the _holbytlan_ , they were so overawed by Arwen. And as Tar-Elessar was now striding forth with his own mighty cock unsheathed, bearing down upon the round, unguarded rear of Éowyn at his queen's silent bidding, none marked it who cared when Sam and Rosie drew a pair of blades enchanted by Queen Undómiel.

The throats of seven Rohirrim were slit, and though they stained the hill's foot with their mortal blood and died before the eyes of all the gathered hosts, no will or thought was stirred to challenge this deed. Nor did any protest when strong men from Arwen's host then dragged the bodies away on Sam's command, hauling them like a burden uncared for across the grass to a place set up for butchering and cooking.

While this went on, Éowyn sucked yet on Théodred's cock, and stroked her brother, and fingered her queen. Elessar bent over her and fondled her breasts at the same time, kissing Arwen while he plundered Éowyn's bountiful booty and made her spray milk all over the boots and leggings of her kinsmen. She was crying out in mindless joy, unable to think of anything but her gladness to be used by the king and queen.

Arwen rocked her hips, a voluminous ass rippling like the moon's face on a stormy sea. Her sex wept its joy down unto Éowyn's hand. Commanding the two men of Eorl's house to grasp her bosom, Arwen luxuriated in their coarse hands laying themselves upon the soft hills of her breast, kneading them reverently and pleasuring her even as Éowyn pleasured them. She watched Elessar through all of this and smiled at the sight of him smiting the blonde's rear with the true scepter of Númenor.

Éowyn behaved in a manner most unbefitting a daughter of kings, even were she a daughter only of wild men who lived in darkness. It was obscene and salacious, and Arwen enjoyed it greatly. Éowyn was fair by the measure of Men, and her beauty was enough to arouse Arwen. As such, Queen Undómiel paid special heed to the state of Éowyn's body under Elessar her beloved.

The blonde made noises low and sultry, and it sounded as if she were trying to speak. But Théodred King's cock was no small matter, and her words were broken and tumbled about its throbbing girth. Lips smacked a twitching shaft, and more milk still spurted from her teats. A bucket now was beneath Éowyn, placed there by a diligent Legolas. Another bucket was beneath Galadriel, whom Gimli milked with heavy hands.

Elessar fondled Éowyn's breasts himself, kneading vast and pendulous sacks of pillowy flesh, working creamy skin between long fingers and pinching puffy nipples. His loins smote her rear with loud claps, a swift tempo that set the woman's heart to race. He milked her like a cow and bred her like a bitch in heat, looking ever at Arwen his love while he did so. Éowyn would have been dismayed to see this, had her mind still been able to muster any thought but the desire of cock.

Arwen met Elessar's gaze with a lofty smile. Éomer and Théodred were masterful in their hands, attending faithfully to her bosom. Éowyn's fingers worked skillfully in her blossom, pleasuring her with all the practice of a mortal maiden's lonely nights, and Narya burned in her sex, responding to the ruling ring that had conquered it.

Nectar gushed down Arwen's thighs while her eyes pierced Elessar. She allowed her ass to sway ponderously and watched his gaze be drawn thence, staring hungrily at her perfect rear as he pounded the shieldmaiden beneath them. It pleased her to see the desire burn in his glance and watch his face smoulder with restless longing.

Vilya glimmered on Elessar's hand, and a star seemed to alight on his brow. Arwen felt the power surge in his ring, and she smiled, perceiving his cock as he focused his craft upon it. His will strove against the shieldmaiden of Rohan, battering her from behind like the great hammer of Morgoth, sweeping over her and drowning her in the shadow of his full manhood. Lordly and stern, he dealt a terrible stroke to the blonde's ass.

Éowyn cried out aloud into the lap of her kinsman. Her body seized up, and shuddering she came in a lusty tumult, her voluptuous body wracked by the violence of intercourse between an Elf-queen, a Númenórean, and two proud young lords of the Riddermark.

Théodred, beholding the look on Éowyn's face, gasped and came into her mouth. Éomer, feeling her hand curl tightly around his length, erupted into her hair and threaded golden strands with ropes of white. Elessar filled her ass with his lordly seed, so much that had he come in unto her proper sex she would have found herself soon with child. And Arwen doused her fingers, drenching her hand with a spray of wet arousal, quenching for a time the red flame of Narya.

Then Éowyn collapsed beneath them, falling beside the bucket of her milk. It was filled to the brim, and its white, frothy contents were disturbed momentarily by the thump of Éowyn's voluptuous body on the grass, its surface rippling and tossing up a few drops of liquid. With come in her hair and her mouth and her ass, binding her locks and dribbling down her cheeks and overflowing from her anus, Éowyn was lost in bliss.

She swallowed with a loud gulp, and vacant eyes stared up at Arwen.

"I... I love thee, good lady," she whispered as lids fluttered. A vast bosom rose and fell with her breathing. Her kinsmen stood over her and beheld her shameful nakedness, and she squirmed weakly in delight of their glance. "I was a fool to defy thee and thy will. Please forgive me my childish vanity, and bless me with thy yoke forevermore, if that should please thee, most fair Queen of the West."

"I shall," said Arwen. "Be at peace, Éowyn the Slattern. I will make you my slave, and all your children shall be meat on my table, and their blood will be the only wine I drink, unless it is your milk or Elessar's seed."

"Then I am glad," said Éowyn, bowing her head. "Your faithful servant, Queen Undómiel."

"You honor the house of Eorl with the taking of my cousin," said Théodred. "Or so my heart tells me. If she were still mine to give, I would commit her to you as a token of my fealty everlasting. But as she is not, I give you instead all such of my people who arouse your fancy, to take as you will and do with whatsoever you wish, whenever the mood should strike you, from now until the end of days."

"Seven already have been taken," said Éomer, surveying a large fire by the foot of the hill. "Four fair maids and three tall knights of Edoras roast on the spit, and _holbytlan_ are cooking them. It seems the Elves do indeed devour the flesh of Men, yet I do not feel troubled. Indeed it pleases me to see them turn over the flames, and the beauty of those maids at least seems all the greater as their skin browns and glistens."

His cock stirred anew, much to Éowyn's delight, and he licked his lips.

"You may partake of their flesh if you wish, when they are cooked," said Arwen. "Or perhaps you would rather sire a calf with your sister to eat all for yourself?"

"If Elessar King should not begrudge it," Éomer said, his eyes lighting up.

"I do not," said Elessar, unconcerned.

Éowyn moaned excitedly.

* * *

 

The three knights and four maids of Meduseld cooked beautifully, and their flesh would have been a worthy meal even with no other dishes to accompany it. But a great feast was held in the golden hall, and their roasted carcasses were only the centerpiece. Many fruits and vegetables were furnished from the first bounties of spring and last stores of winter, sweet or crisp or tangy or bitter, but all good and all wholesome.

Bread there was also, rich loaves of wheat and barley and rye still warm from the ovens of Théodred King, with butter fresh-churned in tubs brought forth by the following of Arwen, and cheese also that was bountiful in her caravan, and creams of every variety. These things were delicious beyond the experience of the Rohirrim, for they came indeed from the milk of Galadriel and the Arweni, the new breed of elleths who were but as witless kine comely and two-legged. Dairy from elven breasts proved itself many times a staple and treat surpassing any milk of goat or cattle.

Other dishes as well there were, foods of all such varieties as the cooks of Meduseld could contrive at this time. Soups and mashes and fries, baked goods and smoked and roasted. But ever did the chiefest praise and wonder go to the provender brought forth by the halfling servants of Arwen, and the people of Théodred's hall shied not at all from partaking in the flesh of the seven roasts, even should they have been friend, lover, or kin of the cooked. Such was the aroma of their meat, and such also the power of Arwen to erode their decency and virtue where it concerned such matters.

In all, there were maybe three hundred who dined there in Meduseld or roundabouts, mostly chiefs and captains of the peoples of the hosts, lords and ladies and elders, and all such souls also as were favored by Arwen. Those who were honored in welcome to the feast spoke high praise to the kings of Rohan and Westernesse, Théodred and Aragorn, and to their foremost captains Éomer and Elfhelm and Grimbold, and Halbarad and Elladan and Elrohir.

Also in places of honor were the Master of Buckland, Meriadoc the Magnificent, and the Took Peregrin, Thain of the Shire, who had succeeded their fathers Gorbadoc and Paladin respectively at the whim of Arwen, who favored them. Also was Rosie Cotton honored, and her dear Samwise Gamgee, for they were chief of the cooks of Arwen, and in the heart of that rapacious queen this was as a very high station.

Rosie, for her part, was clad in the fashion of the Arweni, for such were the new breed of elf-maids and sires now widely named, being naked under the sun yet unashamed. She was curvy in the manner of hobbit maids, who like dwarves were rarely slender and disinclined to small breasts, with a plump, bouncy rear and an ample, heaving bosom which often drew the eye of a blushing Samwise.

She was wholly overthrown in Rivendell by awe of Queen Arwen, having come secretly in the hobbit host after Bilbo and Frodo with hopes of seeing Sam whom she loved. Now she was a servant of the queen, and she had been given unto Sam shameless and beautified by the arts of Undómiel as a reward for his service until then, and a promise of his service from then on, to Arwen who had taken the plain yet comely Rosie and made her fairer, more voluptuous, and wholly without shame of sex or nakedness.

Thus Rosie Cotton sat nude in Sam's lap as they shared a generous cut of the plumpest teat and shapeliest rear from among the seven roasts which they had prepared, and she was neither quiet nor still in her seat, but moaned at the flavor of their cooking and rubbed against Sam with much relish. Her posterior round and soft she made to grind against him, and she sat facing him and fed slices of Rohirrim breastmeat from her lips to his mouth, squeezing her bosom between them and coaxing his modest manhood out from its confines.

She rode him as they ate, and he did not protest nor begrudge her greed of intercourse as his stiffening cock was nestled in her blossom and throttled by her burning loins, driven in and out of her sopping blossom with a mutual vigor and zeal. Their navels smacked together, and their tongues joined in sultry dance around a brown and tastefully spiced nipple which passed between their mouths as freely as jest. They fucked fervently, all the more eager for the fact that Rosie had already borne him three daughters since her first coming to Imladris and was now five days pregnant with the fourth, maid-children who were brought to term as swiftly as the Arweni and grown to stature swifter still by the arts of Queen Evenstar.

Of the fate of Rosie's first three daughters, who come not at all into this tale save by most distant mention, let it only be said that on womanhood they were no more robust of mind than the Arweni, who were as domestic beasts in thought and treated with no more honor than base chattle. The first at least Arwen had amused herself to stick upon the rod of her king and foremost thrall, and slay her thereby through the difference of size between Elessar, who was grown beyond even the stature of Elendil the Tall by Vilya's power, and the witless hobbit maid who was but a third his height.

For three _ranga_ was Elessar in stature now, who had full waxed to a manhood unsurpassed by any mortal of that age, thrice the height of _banakil_ , and half again the height of his nearest kin among the Dúnedain. Arwen was less changed in height, but considerably more in breadth of bosom and hips. Yet though Elessar stood head and shoulder above her, she did not begrudge this but rather relished it, for his stature made it all the more comfortable to lean against him and bury her face in his bosom, though if she wished she could still easily kiss him on the lips while in the midst of joining their sexes, or tower above him and all others in wrath, though rarely yet had she been stirred to such occasion.

But this aside, among the other honored seats were Lord Legolas, High King of the Wood and Grey Elves, who ruled both Lothlórien and Eryn Lasgalen above his father Thranduil, who was now as but a regent to his son in the northern realm. Legolas was, like the hobbits, honored by Arwen, and richly rewarded in slaves and booty. A share indeed had he been given even in the body of Galadriel, such a love of friendship had formed between himself and Gimli the Great, King of Khazad-dûm and all the dwellings of Durin's race from Ered Luin to the Iron Hills, for a kindred spirit had these two discovered in their joy at using and debasing the Lady of the Golden Wood.

Others were there, heads of the Bree-folk and Dunlendings, King Brand of Dale and Prince Thorin III of Erebor, as well as Grimbeorn and his eldest daughter Brunhild, and the Master of Esgaroth, and the chiefs of the Angmarim, and such Elf Lords and Ladies of Imladris and the western havens who gave fealty to Arwen.

For even Lindon had fallen to her influence, the last errand of Glorfindel having been to subvert its people and Cirdan, and in a madness of fear and confused lust he had accomplished the former, a power of Arwen's presence having laid on his back to seduce those who had rejected even Sauron when he first came to them in the guise of Annatar.

But the latter of Glorfindel's tasks had been for naught, as Cirdan was surpassingly ancient and wise even by the measure of Elves, having first opened his eyes by the waters of waking and beheld the stars when they young and unnamed by mortal tongues, when the sun and moon had not yet been fashioned or set in the heavens. He had seen the evil will upon Glorfindel and spurned it, yet also saw that many of his own people were enthralled by that power, and with a bitter foresight beheld that no more Elves would sail west from his haven. So he had taken what few of his people could resist the insidious temptations of Arwen's will, which could now overthrow great lords by its mere rumor, and so fled with his last ship upon the straight road to the Uttermost West.

For his failure to take Cirdan, and in anger born of a secret fear that the Shipwright should beg the intervention of the Lords of the West, Arwen had condemned Glorfindel to a slow demise in the ovens of Rivendell. And though it now seemed, with many months passed and no rumor yet from over the sea that the Valar would come to Middle-earth, which was now the only threat to Arwen's dominion save the One beyond the walls of the world, and He would not intervene save at the utmost peril to the garden of His thought and stewardship of His Children, Arwen did not regret her rash condemnation of Glorfindel. He had been a most delicious meal.

So were the Rohirrim on whom all in the Golden Hall of Brego now feasted, and indeed in after years minstrels of the queen would make many songs of the Seven Roasts of Meduseld, and their deeds in adorning the board of Théodred and filling the bellies of his noble guests would be sung more highly than the slaying of Glaurung by Túrin Turambar, or the hunt of the dread wolf Carcharoth, or the theft of the Silmaril from the Iron Crown, or the seven wounds and laming of Morgoth by Fingolfin High King of the Noldor, or all the deeds of the houses of the Eldar and Edain save only those of Elessar and Undómiel.

In that feast Elladan and Elrohir were at last utterly subdued to the will of Arwen, and they rose halfway through with great praise of her beauty, filled with a suddenly flamed desire that the slavish ministrations of their pet elleths greatly fueled. And they named her _Meltári Imerna_ in the high tongue, Love Queen the Most Desired, and they begged leave to partake in the wonders of her body, so consumed were they by the lust she put forth like a fuming reek or evil dread, a smell of sex as thick in the air and as ruinous to the mind as dragon stench on hoarded gold.

Arwen, amused by the final overthrow of her brothers' wills, and pleased in her pride by the names that they gave her, granted this request. So wild with delight were her brothers that like undisciplined hounds they sprang onto the table and bounded across it, heedless of where they trod, seeing only the beauty of their sister and thinking only of the chance to explore that wondrous body by her leave and blessing. And so mad were they in their glee, casting off their clothes to the pleased cries of many ladies who saw them, that they did not notice the look Arwen shared with Elessar who sat beside her.

But Arwen stood up from her seat and spread her arms and legs, and smiling she welcomed Elladan and Elrohir. The former embraced her from the fore, and her bosom mashed against his breast, and his manhood stood eagerly tall. Elrohir stood back at first, seeing Elladan poised to enter Arwen's blossom and thus thinking to wait his turn therein, before Arwen gracefully swayed her great bottom and commanded him to come into her from behind, saying that she wished to feel her brother's cocks meet within her.

So Elladan and Elrohir sandwiched their queen between them, equal to her in stature as she presently stood, and they kissed her hands and her neck and every inch of her white, flawless skin that their lips could reach. With skillful fingers, silent and wordless, they told of the love for her which grew even now in their hearts and loins, and she accepted it graciously, telling them in turn with her hands that she was glad of their attentions.

Into Arwen the twins thrust, and the hall resounded with songs and cheers and praise for the beauty of the half-elven race that was shown as clearly by the brothers as by their sister Arwen Imerna. And Arwen was pleased by the cocks of her brothers, which were of a measure nearly comparable to Elessar, and by their fair faces and slender forms. Wracked languidly between their writhing, thrusting forms, Arwen looked even more beautiful to the eyes of those who beheld her, and no heart was there in Meduseld so hard and resolute as to not be utterly enslaved to desire of her loveliness in that hour.

But as Elladan and Elrohir paid a tribute of intercourse to their queen, Elessar rose also from his seat and went before Arwen. He too cast off his clothes, and even those who had not been aroused by the comeliness of the sons of Elrond were kindled to a reverence and lust less only than what they felt for Meltári his master and lady. For Elessar was as handsome as the twins, but as said before also of a greater stature now than all mortals in Middle-earth, a hobbit's height taller than the next greatest mortal man.

Vilya also enhanced his presence and his loveliness in a way like to but less than how the One Ring increased Arwen. Because he was indeed less than her in all but strength of arm, in the same way that a captain serving a king might be the far mightier warrior but still have less station, power, and nobility. And Vilya was far less than the One itself, too, if still accounted greatest of all other rings.

Slapping wetly inside their sister, gasping and moaning as they praised her with their bodies, thrusting into her flower and rear, her ass and her cunt, Elladan and Elrohir marked aught but the loveliness of Arwen. Her body absorbed them utterly; her breasts so heavy and soft, her bottom so vast and white, her slender hands and long lithe legs with plump, quaking thighs. _Smack, smack, smack,_ they fucked her body while she fucked their minds, to speak vulgarly, defiling all their thought with lust and perversion.

So neither of the twins noticed the coming of Elessar, who strode up behind Elladan. But Arwen noticed him, and she smiled, and rising tall over her brothers she buried the head of Elladan in her bosom and leaned forward to kiss Elessar. And he received her kiss reverently, and in equal stature they threw their arms around each other.

Elessar was erect and formidable, and his manhood thrust up between the buttocks of Elladan.

"Ai!" gasped Elladan, muffled in the cleavage of Meltári and feeling the great, pulsing head of Elessar's cock bump against the rim of his anus. He flushed hotly, and his own manhood throbbed all the harder within his sister, to whose rising body he was cloven at the loins. "Please, Estel! I love you, but you are grown very great, and I do not think I could endure it if you do this thing!"

"You will endure it, brother," said Elrohir from behind Arwen, moaning and thrusting into her huge, soft ass. "As would I in your place. This is the toll of coming in unto the queen, I deem, that the king should come in unto us in turn."

"Mmm, but you speak rightly," moaned Arwen. "Elessar my love is a jealous man, when it comes to me. Moreover this thought is pleasing to me, that you my little-older brothers should be spitted upon the cock of the new chief of our race."

"For myself," said Elessar softly, pushing into Elladan and making the son of Elrond cry out into Arwen's bosom, "I merely desire a relief to this hardness which afflicts my body, and as my wife and queen is otherwise disposed, I shall use you and your brother to soothe the pangs of my manhood."

And so he began to thrust in and out, driving the hips of Elladan with the stroke of his loins and beating the half-elf's cock into his sister's cunt, distending his ass with a great erection. Elrohir heard the cries of his brother, both pained and delighted, and he shuddered, knowing not whether in fear or excitement.

Théodred praised the virility of Elessar and the beauty of Arwen while his cousin Éowyn lay with her bosom on his lap, the cock of the king of Rohan sandwiched between her teats. She moaned lewdly and lapped at the head of his manhood, which was thick and rigid, while her brother Éomer thrust vigorously into her maidenhead, defiling her and exciting her with an incestuous lust.

The seed of Éomer dripped from Éowyn's sex and smeared between them, for he had come in unto her more than once already. He sought to quicken her and anoint his sister with a child, even as Arwen had offered, and with the taste of the Seven Roasts still on his tongue he thought of the son or daughter of this forbidden deed laid upon his board, aught but a slab of meat. This thought thrilled him, and he came once more into his sister, making her moan and swallow what part of Théodred's cock stood up from amidst her bosom.

Arwen beheld this, and similar scenes throughout the hall, and felt the cocks of her brothers pounding away inside her, meeting with greedy thrusts. She looked down at the face of Elladan, who looked as shameful as Galadriel in his expression, staring slavishly up at her from between her vast breasts.

The One Ring smouldered on her finger, and she felt her power increasing further still. Again, she spoke aloud the ring spell amidst her pleased moans and many deep, lusty sighs. Her eyes glittered with starlight, and a darkness shrouded her head. She rose above Elessar, dwarfing him and all others.

 _One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,_  
_One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them._

Her voice was like the rolling of thunder. Elladan and Elrohir came in unto her, and all others in the hall came also, whether or not they had been engaged in sexual conduct. Like a wave her lust fell over all of Edoras, and all the hosts of Meltári Imerna and Elessar Tar-Atani were consumed by the whim of Arwen, and burning with lust they rose up in a madness to ravish all of Edoras.

In Mordor, in the Barad-dûr, Sauron diminished further still; and he was afraid, feeling the power of Arwen wax even as he waned. Her dominion was nearing absolute certainty.

A second darkness was coming, but _he_ would not rule it.


End file.
